Making Myanmar: Democratic Transition and Communal Violence 2012

Home , Ramree Township, Saffron terror, Thandwe Township

Making Myanmar: Democratic Transition and Communal Violence 2012 – 2014

James T. Davies

A thesis in fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

University of New South Wales, Canberra

School of Humanities and Social Sciences

June 2018

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‘I hereby declare that this submission is my own work and to the best of my knowledge it contains no materials previously published or written by another person, or substantial proportions of material which have been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma at UNSW or any other educational institution, except where due acknowledgement is made in the thesis. Any contribution made to the research by others, with whom I have worked at UNSW or elsewhere, is explicitly acknowledged in the thesis. I also declare that the intellectual content of this thesis is the product of my own work, except to the extent that assistance from others in the project's design and conception or in style, presentation and linguistic expression is acknowledged.’

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Abstract The period of democratic transition in Myanmar, beginning in 2010, has seen the emergence of devastating communal violence, the vast majority of which has been directed towards Muslim communities. This thesis considers the phenomenon of communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar through a contentious politics framework. The historical institutionalist argument made in this thesis suggests three factors necessary for communal violence in this case; an exclusive definition of the political community at the time of democratic transition, elites’ promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism during democratic transition, and the availability of non-elites willing to perpetrate violence.

This thesis documents a mechanism between democratic transition and exclusionary forms of nationalism in Myanmar. The practice of democracy requires the definition of a nation’s boundaries – of who is a member of the political community and of who is not. Democracy, however, cannot determine where these boundaries should lie. It is instead nationalism which will define a new conception of the political community. This thesis finds that the exclusionary forms of nationalism which arose during democratic transition in Myanmar reflected the historically exclusive definition of the nation and the construction of particular communal groups, foremost the Rohingya, as a threat to it. Such conceptions were promoted by political, religious and other elites during transition.

Using a dynamic contentious politics approach to study the interactions of actors, opportunities and mechanisms, this thesis stresses the ways in which communal violence interacted with democratic transition. This is considered through an analysis of the processes of; the historical construction of national and communal identities, the activation of the boundaries of these identities at democratic transition, the constitution of actors (including political parties and nationalist organisations), brokerage between these actors, and the interpretation of violence by the state and other actors as democratic transition continued. Insecurity is considered as an environmental mechanism which influences the attribution of threat by actors. Mobilisation for violence can be found throughout these processes and mechanisms. This thesis draws i upon in-depth interviews with political, religious and community leaders and other community members, predominantly taken in five different case-study locations across Myanmar.

Acknowledgements One accumulates significant debts, of many kinds, during a project as long as a PhD. This final result is the product of much conversation, debate, correspondence and exchange. There are many people to thank for their friendship, hospitality, conversation, encouragement, support and generosity. In particular I wish to thank those in Myanmar who participated in, or otherwise contributed towards, this project. Although many cannot be named here due to ongoing issues of safety, I hope they can see their influence. I am deeply beholden to all who took part in this research, either through formal interviews, or the afternoons and evenings spent in conversation in tea shops and beer stations.

Many have become good friends, and have very much influenced my understanding of what we were witnessing together. In particular I thank Julian Pinzon-Godoy. The many hours spent in discussion – either on the bus to Sittwe, the train to Mandalay or in a mouldy San Chaung apartment – have shaped much more than just how this thesis approaches the topics of identity, violence, privilege and spirituality.

Special thanks are also due to my academic Ako Kyi Nyi Nyi Kyaw for his friendship, mentorship and encouragement, whether in Singapore, Canberra, Yangon or on WhatsApp every other day. I am grateful to Sandeep Singh for his insights and friendship in Canberra towards the end of the project. The same goes to Tom Carr for his friendship in both Canberra and Yangon, and for all the valuable advice and reading recommendations. Thank you to Mel Walker, who shared her knowledge and let me stay at her place in Yangon so often. Francis Wade, Felix Kan Nyunt, Gerard McCarthy, Justine Chambers, Anthea Snowsill, Dinith Adikari, Olivia Cable, Tim Frew and Luke Corbin are all due thanks for all their Myanmar knowledge and hangouts, KH for sharing his know- how and his house, Nyein Paing Oo for his energy and dedication, and Sayar Kyi Bo Bo for guiding me and for being a trusted friend. Thanks are also due to Ma Nora for her friendship and for lending me her husband. Thanks to Ko Sithu and Aung Aung for all the great times. Particular thanks go to U Khin Maung Yin and his family who patiently put up with my presence for months in their home, and to Dan Charlton who did the same for some days in Oxford. To other friends in Canberra; Veasna Var, Rhiannon Nelson,

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Gaetano Currao, and Wenze Lu– it’s been great. Thanks to the Myanmar team at UNSW Canberra, U Khin Maung Yin, Amy Doffegnies and Cecile Medail.

I am deeply grateful to Morten Pedersen and Gavin Mount for their guidance throughout this whole process. Also to Bernadette McDermott, who is well known at UNSW Canberra for her wise advice and for brightening many days. In Perth, thanks are due to Jie Chen and Samina Yasmeen at the University of Western Australia for their encouragement when I was starting this project. Daniel Cribb, Clay Berry and Matthew Smith have been great friends long before I considered taking up the PhD. It is difficult to overstate how grateful I am to my parents and family who have always given their unconditional support.

To those who helped me with learning the Myanmar language – I thank you for your patience and apologise for the many times I butchered the language. They include the magnificent Nai Tin Aye, John Okell, Jennifer Lwin and May Nyane among others.

The ideas in this thesis underwent useful criticism at the Oxford-SOAS Graduate Workshop: “New Directions on Research on Myanmar”, at the University of Oxford and SOAS, University of London, 26-28 May 2017; at the 12th Singapore Graduate Forum on Southeast Asian Studies at the Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore, 24-28 July 2017; as well as at a conference and seminars at UNSW Canberra. I thank Matthew Walton, Mandy Sadan and Daw Khin Mar Mar Kyi for having me in the UK, to ARI for having me in Singapore, and to Peter Stanley and the other organisers of events at UNSW. These opportunities contributed significantly to the development of the ideas found here. Any errors or deficiencies in the final thesis, however, are of course my own responsibility.

This work is dedicated to Susu for her patience, support and love. Without her encouragement across continents (and willingness to put up with my questions of translations and other matters) this thesis would not have been possible.

List of Maps and Figures

Map 1.1: Myanmar in the Region: Five Case Studies 8 Figure 6.1: The 969 Movement Logo 182

List of Tables

Table 1.1: Urban Populations in the Five Case Studies 12 Table 1.2: Population by Religion in States and Regions 13 Table 1.3: Fieldwork Interviews 36 Table 1.4: Fieldwork Interviews by Religious Identity 37 Table 1.5: Fieldwork Focus Groups 38 Table 2.1: Procedural Definitions of Democracy 63

List of Acronyms

AFPFL Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League ALD Arakan League for Democracy ANP Arakan National Party ARNO Arakan Rohingya National Organisation ARSA Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army BIA Burma Independence Army CSC Citizenship Scrutiny Card CSO Civil Society Organisation HRW Human Rights Watch ICG International Crisis Group IDP Internally displaced persons ISCI International State Crime Initiative MaBaTha The Association for the Protection for Race and Religion MaHaNa State Sangha Maha Nayaka Committee MPF Myanmar Police Force MSF Médecins Sans Frontières NaSaKa Border Security Force NLD National League for Democracy NRC National Registration Card OIC Organisation of Islamic Cooperation RPF Rohingya Patriotic Front SLORC State Law and Order Restoration Council SPDC State Peace and Development Council UN United Nations USDA Union Solidarity and Development Association USDP Union Solidarity and Development Party RNDP Rakhine Nationalities Development Party RSO Rohingya Solidarity Organisation

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Glossary

Term in Text Burmese English

Ashin အရွင္ The venerable. Honorific used before the name of a Buddhist monk.

Dhamma ဓမၼ The teachings of the Buddha

Lon Htein လုံထိန္း Riot police. Abbreviation of Lônchônhmu Teinthein Tat Phwè, translated as “security preservation battalion” by Selth.1

Lumyo လူမ်ိဳး Literally “person-type”. Often translated as ethnicity or race but also includes religious identities. Reflects this thesis’ use of the term “communal”.

Lusein လူစိမ္း Stranger or outsider

Hluttaw လႊတ္ေတာ္ Parliament

Kula ကုလား A term for Muslims or others of South Asian descent which is often considered to be derogatory

Moulvi ေမာ္လဝီ Islamic scholar

Pongyi ဘုန္းၾကီး Buddhist monk

Sangha သံဃ The Buddhist monastic community. The term may also be used to refer to the Buddhist religious community more widely.

Sasana သာသနာ The Buddhist religion, but also may include the community of Buddhists and the teachings of the Buddha.

Sayadaw ဆရာေတာ္ Buddhist abbot

1 Selth, Andrew, “Myanmar’s Police Forces: Coercion, Continuity and Change,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 34, no. 1 (2012): 74. viii

Swan Arr Shin စြမ္းအားရွင္ “Masters of Force”. A government-recruited civilian militia group.

Taing-yintha တိုင္းရင္းသား “National races”

Tatmadaw တပ္မေတာ္ Myanmar armed forces

Weikza ဝိဇၨာ A form of Theravada Buddhism in Myanmar

Yoma ရိုးမ Mountain range

Table of Contents Abstract ...... i

Acknowledgements...... iii

List of Maps and Figures...... v

List of Tables ...... vi

List of Acronyms ...... vii

Glossary ...... viii

Table of Contents ...... x

Chapter 1: Introduction...... 1

1.1 A Narrative of Communal Violence in Myanmar 2012-2014 ...... 5

1.2 Communalism, Violence and Democratic Transition ...... 14

1.2.1 Historical Explanations ...... 17

1.2.2 Institutionalist Explanations ...... 20

1.2.3 Instrumentalist Explanations...... 25

1.3 Methodology ...... 30

1.4 Structure and Arguments ...... 40

1.5 Language and Terminology ...... 44

Chapter 2: Analytical Framework ...... 45

2.1 Communal Identity ...... 46

2.2 “Communal” Conflict, “Communal” Violence ...... 47

2.2.1 Primordialist Approaches ...... 49

2.2.2 Instrumentalist Approaches ...... 51

2.2.3 Constructivist Approaches ...... 52

2.3 Democracy and Democratic Transition ...... 56

2.3.1 Substantive Definitions ...... 57

2.3.2 Procedural Definitions ...... 58

2.4 Democratic Transition...... 65

2.5 Contentious Episodes, Processes and Mechanisms ...... 66

2.5.1 Changing Political Opportunity Structures ...... 69

2.5.2 Identity Formation ...... 71

2.5.3 Boundary Activation...... 73

2.5.4 Polarisation ...... 78

2.5.5 Actor Constitution ...... 78

2.5.6 Interpretation ...... 81

2.5.7 Insecurity ...... 84

2.6 Conclusion ...... 86

Chapter 3: Changing Political Opportunity Structures ...... 88

3.1 Political Change in Myanmar...... 89

3.2 A Gradual, or Sequenced, Transition? ...... 92

3.3 Elites...... 95

3.4 Rule of Law ...... 97

3.5 Unelected Influence and Security Forces Reform ...... 100

3.6 Expanded Civil Liberties ...... 104

3.7 Elections ...... 106

3.8 Decentralisation ...... 111

3.9 Conclusion ...... 113

Chapter 4: Identity Formation: Exclusive Political Community ...... 115

4.1 Identity and the State Historically ...... 116

4.2 The Colonial Period ...... 122

4.3 The Parliamentary Period and Military Rule ...... 128

4.3.1 Insurgency ...... 131

4.3.2 Muslims under Military Rule ...... 134

4.4 Bamar-Kula? ...... 141

4.5 Rohingya Identity ...... 143 xi

4.6 Contemporary Rakhine Grievances ...... 146

4.6.1 Muslim Threat ...... 148

4.6.2 Myanmar Threat ...... 153

4.7 Conclusion...... 157

Chapter 5: Border Activation and Polarisation: Reconstituting the Boundaries ...... 159

5.1 Boundary Activation and Polarisation in Rakhine State: The Kaman ...... 160

5.2 A Rohingya Threat and a Muslim Threat ...... 164

5.3 Conclusion...... 171

Chapter 6: Actor Constitution and Brokerage: Organising Nationalism ...... 174

6.1 Actor Constitution in Rakhine State ...... 176

6.1.1 Political Parties ...... 176

6.1.2 Sangha...... 179

6.2 Buddhist Nationalism in Myanmar: Local Origins of the 969 Movement ...... 181

6.2.1 Scale Shift ...... 185

6.2.2 Institutionalisation of Buddhist Nationalism: MaBaTha ...... 187

6.3 From Patience to Patronage: USDP-MaBaTha Brokerage ...... 190

6.3.1 Seeking Support in the Sangha ...... 195

6.3.2 The USDP and the Construction of a Muslim Threat ...... 199

6.4 The Rakhine Nexus ...... 201

6.5 Conclusion...... 204

Chapter 7: Interpretation: Blame Displacement and Replication ...... 207

7.1 Communal Explanations ...... 209

7.2 Economic Explanations ...... 214

7.3 Political Explanations ...... 217

7.4 State as Discriminatory ...... 221

7.5 The State, “Outsiders”, and the Rule of Law ...... 223

7.6 Replicating Narratives and Power Structures ...... 227

7.7 Implications for Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD ...... 230 xii

7.8 Conclusion ...... 233

Chapter 8: Insecurity: Fear and Perpetration of Violence ...... 236

8.1 Rumours, Tensions and Defence ...... 238

8.2 Violence in Sittwe ...... 240

8.3 Response of Security Forces ...... 244

8.4 Security Solutions ...... 248

8.5 Dhamma, and its Defence ...... 251

8.6 Conclusion ...... 254

Chapter 9: Conclusion ...... 256

Reference List: ...... 266

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Chapter 1: Introduction

Unwittingly, it seems, in relaxing decades of tight army control over the country, Mr Thein Sein and his reforming ministers have breathed life into some of the uglier forces in Myanmar society that authoritarian rule kept suppressed, notably sectarian violence.

- The Economist, 30 March, 20131

[The Cold War's end] lifted the lid from a cauldron of long-simmering hatreds. Now, the entire global terrain is bloody with such conflicts… rooted in the economic dislocations that are inherent in the change from communist to market economics, rooted in religious and ethnic battles long covered over by authoritarian regimes now gone

- US President Bill Clinton, 19942

In 2010 Myanmar entered a period of transition away from authoritarian rule and towards a more democratic system. While the elections in November of that year were imperfect, the military-backed Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP) which took power in early 2011 showed an earnest commitment to reform. The USDP established political freedoms, openness and transparency not experienced in Myanmar since the military took power in a 1962 coup. In April 2012, by-elections were held and the main political opposition – Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD)

1 The Economist, “When the Lid Blows Off: Communal Violence in Myanmar,” The Economist, 30 March 2013, http://www.economist.com/news/asia/21574506-sectarian-violence-was-not-supposed-be-part- myanmars-bright-new-direction-when-lid-blows. 2 Ann Devroy, “President Cautions Congress on 'Simplistic Ideas' in Foreign Policy,” The Washington Post, 26 May 1994, https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/1994/05/26/president-cautions- congress-on-simplistic-ideas-in-foreign-policy/3772970b-4c6f-45ed-b22b- 0174b6d4c7b8/?utm_term=.1bb3f41b9346. 1

– won 43 of 44 contested seats. While this accounted for only five per cent of seats in the parliament, it indicated that substantial change was underway.

This was also the year in which the challenges of democratic transition were to become glaringly obvious. Questions of the boundaries of the nation were violently opened, as unresolved questions of belonging and place in the national community threatened lives, and the stability and success of transition. This was communal violence, for the most part perpetrated by members of the Buddhist majority against Muslim communities. Across the country, neighbours turned on each other. Hundreds were killed and hundreds of thousands displaced.

In a period of apparently progressive democratic transition, how can we explain the emergence of such brutality? What led political and religious leaders to incite hatred and violence against communities who considered themselves part of the same nation? What compels individuals to take up weapons against their neighbours? And why was this violence directed against Muslim communities in particular? And why now?

It is commonly heard that democratic transition “lifts the lid” on communal violence. In the context of Myanmar, analysts have stipulated that “democracy unleashed deep- seated grievances that had been restrained by the iron hand of military rule”,3 while journalists have written that “hostility towards Muslims bubbled under the surface during Burma’s long years of military rule”, overflowing only with the “loosening of the regime’s grip” on civil and political freedoms.4 The same “boiling pot” or “iron hand” analogies are also used to explain other cases of violence during political change, notably by US President Bill Clinton in the 1994 quote prefacing this chapter.

3 Kang Siew Kheng, “Commentary: Megaphone Outrage Does Nothing for Myanmar and the Rohingya,” Channel News Asia, 9 October 2017, https://www.channelnewsasia.com/news/commentary/commentary-global-outrage-myanmar- rohingya-refugees-megaphone-9291850. 4 Rosalind Russell, Burma's Spring: Real Lives in Turbulent Times (Bangkok: River Books, 2015), 172, 75. Similar arguments are also made elsewhere. See, for example; Charlie Campbell, “Arakan Strife Could Spread across Burma: Icg,” The Irrawaddy, 13 November 2012, https://www.irrawaddy.com/news/burma/arakan-strife-could-spread-across-burma-icg.html. 2

While quantitative studies do show a correlation between violence and democratic transition, particularly in states with heterogeneous populations,5 the conjectures above assume that there is something inherent about diversity which produces tensions and even violence. This reflects a primordial perspective, one which assumes communal identities are ancient, irrational and unchanging.6 Violence is seen as a product of inconsistencies between borders of communal groups and modern states. Studies also show, however, that there is no correlation between diverse societies and violence,7 and many heterogeneous states transitioning towards democracy do not suffer communal violence. While such analogies may be used by journalists and policy-makers as short- hand for more complex phenomenon, these are dangerous suggestions, which endorse authoritarianism for its peacekeeping capacity. This perspective also sees tensions between communities as existing prior to democratic transition, eschewing the possibility that they are produced or exacerbated by its very processes. It gives little space to agency or considerations of other factors or particular conditions present at the time of transition.

Any instance of communal violence is a diverse phenomenon, featuring numerous actors playing different roles in its production for various reasons. In the context of democratic transition and communal violence in Myanmar, many of the actors remain unconnected in the literature, however, and there remains little known about why non- elites perpetrate violence despite the apparent high risks and few benefits. Explanations need to show why it was Muslim communities in particular who were targeted in the violence, and why the violence occurred when it did. Myanmar is a diverse and historically divided polity, with many religious and ethnic minority communities which have historically faced some level of exclusion and oppression from the Bamar dominated centre. While Myanmar does has a history of anti-Muslim violence under military rule, the violence of 2012 and onwards was of a different intensity, scale, type and appeared to be driven by new concerns and new actors. Why was it a period of

5 Demet Yalcin Mousseau, “Democratizing with Ethnic Divisions: A Source of Conflict?,” Journal of Peace Research 38, no. 5 (2001): 561; Håvard Hegre et al., “Towards a Democratic Civil Peace? Democracy, Political Change and Civil War, 1816- 1992,” American Political Science Review 95, no. 1 (2001): 34. 6 Walter Connor, Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1994), 204. 7 Mousseau, “Democratizing with Ethnic Divisions: A Source of Conflict?,” 549, 59. 3 democratic transition which provided the context for this? The existing literature has largely resisted answering these questions.

With a lens on Myanmar’s democratic transition from 2010 and onwards, and a particular focus on communal violence between the years of 2012 and 2014, this thesis seeks to identity conditions and mechanisms which contribute to communal violence during democratic transition. This thesis will show that democratic transition begs questions of inclusion, exclusion and place in the national political community. These questions need to be settled for the purposes of elections, federal systems, constitutions and other democratic political institutions. There is no democratic reasoning, however, as to where the boundaries of the political community should be set. These boundaries are instead set by nationalism, which will inevitably arise to fill the gap that democratic transition has opened.

The historical institutionalist argument made in this thesis contends that three factors in particular contributed towards the emergence of communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar; an exclusively defined political community at the time of transition, the promotion of exclusionary forms of national or communal identity by elites during transition, and the availability of non-elites willing to perpetrate violence. This thesis also shows that communal violence during democratic transition was quickly politicised and interacted with democratic transition. Communal violence interacted with the broader processes of political reform and nation-building. The ways in which religious and political elites encountered and spoke about the violence will be shown to have been crucial to its replication. To reach these ends, this thesis uses a contentious politics framework – as outlined by authors such as McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly – to present a dynamic schema of actors, opportunities and mechanisms.8 A contentious politics framework allows the researcher to view such complex interactions within episodes of contention, in this case communal violence during democratic transition.

8 The two main texts defining the contentious politics literature are; Doug McAdam, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly, Dynamics of Contention (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2001); Charles Tilly and Sidney Tarrow, Contentious Politics (Colorado: Paradigm Publishers, 2007). 4

1.1 A Narrative of Communal Violence in Myanmar 2012-2014 This section presents a narrative of communal violence in Myanmar between 2012 and 2014. There is a focus on the five case studies that this thesis has particularly investigated; Sittwe in June 2012, Meiktila in March 2013, Lashio in May 2013, Thandwe in October 2013 and Mandalay in July 2014. There are many narratives of the violence during this period, none of them free from bias.9 The problems that this presents not only for an academic wishing to study the violence but also for those seeking resolutions to the conflict is a theme throughout this thesis. Here, an attempt is made to present a narrative of the violence which presents most vital facts of the cases, while recognising that this is just one of many possible narratives.

The first major instance of communal violence in this period was in Rakhine State, western Myanmar, in June 2012 – just over one month after those historic by-elections. A Buddhist woman in Kyauk Ni Maw village, Ramree Township had been raped and murdered by three Muslim men on 28 May. Leaflets were subsequently distributed amongst Buddhist communities warning against sexual assault from Muslims, and encouraging retribution.10 This came on 3 June in Toungup town, in the form of a mob which attacked and killed 10 Muslims from central Myanmar. Violence then occurred in the northern Rakhine State town of Maungdaw, where Muslim communities who identify as Rohingya, but are largely known as Bengali in Myanmar, took to the streets after Friday prayers on 8 June. Their targets were, in turn, communities who identified as Rakhine. They destroyed property and killed an unknown number of people.11

9 This has been previously noted by Brass in the context of India, and Cheesman in the context of Myanmar. Paul R. Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence in Contemporary India (Seattle & London: University of Washington Press, 2003), 20; Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1997), 6; Nick Cheesman, “Introduction: Interpreting Communal Violence in Myanmar,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 47, no. 3 (2017): 343. 10 Aung Hla Tun, “Myanmar Assigns Top Cop, Minister to Probe Muslim Deaths,” Reuters, 7 June 2012, http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/06/07/us-myanmar-violence-idUSBRE8560LH20120607. 11 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”: Sectarian Violence and Ensuing Abuses in Burma's Arakan State,” (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2012), 1, https://www.hrw.org/report/2012/07/31/government-could-have-stopped/sectarian-violence-and- ensuing-abuses-burmas-arakan. 5

Days later, communal violence took over the Rakhine State capital Sittwe, its surrounding villages, and the nearby Maungdaw, Buthidaung, Rathedaung, Kyauktaw, Pauktaw, Sittwe, Mrauk-U, Kyaukpyu and Ramree townships. The last incident in this wave of violence occurred on 23 June.12 The violence was for the most part between Rakhine communities and Muslim communities, although other minority communities were also affected. The victims of the violence were overwhelmingly Rohingya and some 70,000 people were displaced, most of them from Sittwe Township.13 Naypyidaw announced that several thousand residential buildings, 17 mosques, 15 monasteries and three schools had been destroyed.14 Naypyidaw later stated, on 21 August, that 88 people had been killed – 31 Rakhine and 57 “Muslim Bengalis”.15 While displaced Rakhine have been resettled and have been allowed to engage in economic, social and political life, those from Muslim communities have been confined to internally displaced persons (IDP) camps or to their villages with severe restrictions on their movement. This remains the case at the time of writing – over five years later.

Following the violence of June 2012, a campaign by elements of the local and national sangha16 intensified across Rakhine State, and Rakhine politicians and civil society groups encouraged anti-Muslim sentiment and violence. In this context of deepening polarisation, violence began again. There was greater evidence that this second wave of violence in Rakhine State was organised and planned. On 22 October, across Minbya, Myebon, Mrauk-U, Pauktaw, Kyaukpyu, Ramree, Kyauktaw, Rathedaung and Thandwe townships, “mobs of thousands of Arakanese with weapons descended on Muslim

12 The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Final Report of Inquiry Commission on Sectarian Violence in Rakhine State,” (Inquiry Commission on Sectarian Violence in Rakhine State, 8 July, 2013), 12, http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs15/Rakhine_Commission_Report-en-red.pdf. 13 UNOCHA, “Myanmar: Displacement in Rakhine State Situation Report No. 5,” (United Nations Office of the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, 19 July, 2012), 1, http://reliefweb.int/sites/reliefweb.int/files/resources/OCHA%20Situation%20Report%205_Rakhine_FI NAL.pdf. 14 Ministry of Foreign Affairs, “Press Release on Situation in Rakhine State,” news release, 30 July, 2012, http://www.myanmargeneva.org/pressrelease/rakhine%20state.pdf. 15 “Press Release Regarding the Recent Incidents in Rakhine State of Myanmar,” news release, 21 August, 2012, http://reliefweb.int/sites/reliefweb.int/files/resources/Press_Release_Rakhine_State_Affairs_Webversi on%2821-08-12%29.pdf. 16 Sangha here is used in this thesis refer to the Buddhist monastic community. The term may also be used to refer to the Buddhist religious community of leaders and followers more widely. 6 communities”.17 The violence sometimes began at the same time of day, despite the considerable distance between townships, and continued for over a week.18 The International Crisis Group (ICG) called the violence “revenge attacks”.19

In what was perhaps the worst incident, up to 70 Rohingya men, women and children were massacred in Yon Thei village in Mrauk-U Township on 23 October. Despite earlier warning of the approaching incident, only a small number of Lon Htein riot police had been deployed to the village. As Rakhine mobs approached, the Rohingya villagers were disarmed by Lon Htein, who subsequently failed to intervene when the Rakhine attacked at approximately 6.30am. Some victims allege that Lon Htein also participated in the attack. Although it appears that more than 1,000 people were involved in the attack, only six were arrested.20

There were reports in both waves of violence that Rakhine politicians and monks incited attacks, and that security forces were complicit in the violence against Muslims.21 The government claimed that 211 people had died in the violence since June – 59 Rakhine and 152 Rohingya.22 These figures are contested, however, and one political party representing Rohingya communities reported that up to 500 people were killed in the October violence alone.23 The total number of displaced rose to 140,000.

Anti-Muslim violence occurred outside of Rakhine State earlier than is often recognised. On the other side of the country, in Myanmar’s Kayin (formerly Karen) State, unknown assailants attacked two mosques with grenades on 29 October 2012. No injuries were

17 HRW, ““All You Can Do Is Pray”: Crimes against Humanity and Ethnic Cleansing of Rohingya Muslims in Burma's Arakan State,” (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2013), 47-48, https://www.hrw.org/report/2013/04/22/all-you-can-do-pray/crimes-against-humanity-and-ethnic- cleansing-rohingya-muslims. 18 Ibid., 48. 19 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition: Violence against Muslims in Myanmar,” (Brussels, Belguim: International Crisis Group, 1 October, 2013), 7, https://www.crisisgroup.org/asia/south-east- asia/myanmar/dark-side-transition-violence-against-muslims-myanmar. 20 HRW, ““All You Can Do Is Pray”,” 52. 21 Ibid., 4. 22 Ibid., 56. 23 Aye Nai, “Group Says Death Toll in Arakan Higher Than Gov’t Figures,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 13 November 2012, http://www.dvb.no/news/group-says-death-toll-in-arakan-higher-than- gov%E2%80%99t-figures/24723. The Inquiry Commission also documents that local communities reported 347 deaths in 2012. The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Final Report,” 22. 7 reported and there had been no similar attacks on this mosque in the past.24 Less than two weeks earlier, a Sayadaw25 in the Kayin State capital of Hpa-an distributed pamphlets encouraging Buddhists to avoid economic and marital contact with Muslims,26 part of an emerging pattern.

Map 1.1: Myanmar in the Region: Five Case Studies

24 Lawi Weng, “Two Mosques Attacked in Karen State,” The Irrawaddy, 29 October 2012, http://www.irrawaddy.org/burma/two-mosques-attacked-in-karen-state.html. 25 A Sayadaw is the head monk at a Buddhist monastery. 26 Francis Wade, “Arakan, Displaced,” The Revealer, 17 December 2012, http://therevealer.org/archives/16138. 8

On Wednesday 20 March 2013, violence against Muslims occurred in the town of Meiktila, central Myanmar. A key trading town of approximately 110,000 people, Meiktila had a substantial Muslim minority. The violence began following an argument between a Buddhist customer and staff at a Muslim-owned gold shop in which the customer was badly assaulted.27 An angry crowd assembled at the store before ransacking and destroying it. The crowd then turned to Muslims and Muslim-owned properties generally.28 The killing of an uninvolved Buddhist monk by a group of Muslims exacerbated the situation,29 and the violence continued for days. At least 20 students and several teachers at an Islamic school were massacred,30 and two Muslim neighbourhoods were destroyed. The violence in Meiktila killed 44 people and displaced 12,846 people, according to the government.31 Observers say the death toll may have been higher.32 Satellite analysis from Human Rights Watch (HRW) indicated that approximately 828 buildings, most residential, were destroyed.33 In the aftermath of the violence, the numerals “969” were found written on the remains of Muslim-owned properties – the name of a growing nationalist movement linked to anti-Muslim activity. Communal violence was subsequently reported in 14 towns and villages in central Myanmar34 and in Bago Region where mosques and Muslim-owned property were destroyed.35 The violence seemed to follow a pattern here, affecting 11 towns on the road towards Yangon in approximately a week, one after another.36 On 25 March,

27 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 12. 28 Ibid. 29 PHR, “Massacre in Central Burma: Muslim Students Terrorized and Killed in Meiktila,” (Washington, DC: Physicians for Human Rights, 2013), 14, http://physiciansforhumanrights.org/library/reports/meiktila-report-may-2013.html. 30 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 12. 31 PHR, “Massacre in Central Burma,” 4. 32 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 12; PHR, “Massacre in Central Burma,” 4. 33 HRW, “Burma: Satellite Images Detail Destruction in Meiktila,” Human Rights Watch, 1 April 2013, https://www.hrw.org/news/2013/04/01/burma-satellite-images-detail-destruction-meiktila. 34 Jason Szep, “Special Report: Buddhist Monks Incite Muslim Killings in Myanmar,” Reuters, 8 April 2013, http://www.reuters.com/article/2013/04/08/us-myanmar-violence-specialreport- idUSBRE9370AP20130408. 35 ALTSEAN Burma, “Anti-Muslim Violence in Central Burma,” (The Alternative ASEAN Network on Burma, 17 April, 2013), 3, http://www.altsean.org/Reports/Anti-Muslimviolence.php. 36 Francis Wade, Myanmar's Enemy Within: Buddhist Violence and the Making of a Muslim “Other” (Zed Books: London, 2017), 155. 9 mosques and houses were attacked in Okkan Township, approximately 200 kilometres north of Yangon.37

On 28 May 2013, communal violence reached the town of Lashio, a key trade hub on the road from Mandalay to the Chinese border in Shan State, north-eastern Myanmar. The violence in Lashio began after a Muslim man, described as having a mental illness, left a Buddhist woman with serious burns after pouring petrol over and setting her alight at a road-side petrol stand.38 The man was arrested before a crowd surrounded the police station and demanded the man be handed over, which police refused.39 Subsequently, a mob of 200-300 people looted, damaged and destroyed Muslim homes and shops for two days. One person was killed and several others, including a journalist, severely injured.40 A mosque and Islamic school were also set alight.41 Just days before the violence in Lashio, Ashin Wirathu – a leading Buddhist nationalist monk known for anti-Muslim vitriol – had delivered a sermon in a town approximately 50 kilometres from Lashio.42 As in Rakhine State, security forces failed to control the violence in both Meiktila and Lashio.43

In late June and early July 2013, communal violence broke out in the small coastal town of Thandwe in southern Rakhine State. Two Muslim men were alleged to have raped a Rakhine woman. As word of the allegation spread through Thandwe, a group of some 50 people destroyed properties belonging mostly to Kaman – another predominantly Muslim community – with three reported injured.44 Earlier the same week, Buddhist

37 The Economist, “When the Lid Blows Off.” 38 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 14. 39 Thomas Fuller, “Myanmar Struggles to Put Down Buddhist Attack on Muslims,” The New York Times, 29 May 2013, http://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/30/world/asia/religious-violence-myanmar.html. 40 Former Lashio-Based Journalist, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 3 August, 2016. 41 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 14. 42 Sanay Lin, “Head to Head with a Burmese Hardliner,” The Irrawaddy, 17 June 2013, http://www.irrawaddy.org/interview/head-to-head-with-a-burmese-hardliner.html. 43 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 13; Fuller, “Myanmar Struggles.”; APHR, “The Rohingya Crisis and the Risk of Atrocities in Myanmar: An Asean Challenge and Call to Action,” (ASEAN Parliamentarians for Human Rights, 22 April, 2015), 8, http://www.aseanmp.org/?p=3269; Tomás Ojea Quintana, “Statement by Tomás Ojea Quintana: Special Rapporteur on the Sitution of Human Rights in Myanmar,” (68th Session of the General Assembly: United Nations General Assembly, 24 October, 2013), 4, https://papersmart.unmeetings.org/media2/703350/statement-by-tomas-ojea-quintana-item-69c.pdf. 44 PHR, “Patterns of Anti-Muslim Violence in Burma: A Call for Accountability and Prevention,” (Physicians for Human Rights, 2013), 16, http://themimu.info/sites/themimu.info/files/assessment_file_attachments/Patterns_of_Anti- Muslim_Violence_in_Burma_-_Physicians_for_Human_Rights_2013.pdf. 10 monks had met in Yangon to form the Association for the Protection for Race and Religion (commonly known by its Myanmar acronym MaBaTha), which would quickly become the predominant Buddhist nationalist organisation in the country.

In late September and early October violence again occurred in Thandwe. A motorcycle taxi flying a Buddhist Sasana45 flag parked outside a Muslim-owned store, and the store owner alleged he had blocked access for customer. An argument began and the driver alleged the shop owner swore at the flag, while other rumours spread that he had broken the flag.46 This was the apparent spark for communal violence in which seven people were killed.47 The violence displaced another 480 people from seven villages, while 110 houses and two mosques were destroyed.48 Of the destroyed houses, 14 belonged to Rakhine, while the rest were Kaman-owned.49 A group of monks from the nationalistic 969 movement had visited Thandwe before the violence. Again, witnesses and victims of the violence reported that security forces were unwilling or unable to control the perpetrators.50

On 1 July 2014, communal violence occurred in Mandalay, Myanmar’s second-largest city. At the behest of a business rival, two Muslim brothers were accused of rape by a Buddhist woman. The allegation quickly spread on social media. On 30 June Ashin Wirathu posted about the incident to Facebook, including the location of the brothers’ business, and encouraged people “to hold the perpetrators accountable”.51 The next evening, a group of men armed with sticks and knives arrived in a predominantly Muslim

45 The Sasana can be understood as the Buddhist religion generally, but also may include the community of Buddhists and the teachings of the Buddha. 46 Thandwe-Based Lawyer, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 47 Irrawaddy, “Thandwe Death Toll Rises to 7 with Discovery of Two More Bodies,” The Irrawaddy, 11 October 2013, http://www.irrawaddy.com/latest-news/thandwe-death-toll-rises-7-discovery-two- bodies.html. 48 UNOCHA, “Report on Findings and Recommendations by Inter-Agency Mission to Thandwe Township in Rakhine State,” (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, 2013), 3, http://www.themimu.info/sites/themimu.info/files/documents/Report_Rakhine_Recommendations_of _IA_to_Thandwe_OCHA_4-6Oct2013.pdf. 49 Ibid., 5. 50 Thandwe-Based Lawyer, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016; Kaman Community Leader and Moulvi, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 May, 2016; Rakhine Muslim Mosque Leader, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 May, 2016. 51 Justice Trust, “Hidden Hands Behind Communal Violence in Myanmar: Case Study of the Mandalay Riots,” (New York: Justice Trust, 2015), 20, http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs21/Justice_Trust-2015-03- Hidden_Hands-en-to-rev1-red.pdf. 11 neighbourhood, where they damaged property, shops and mosques, and set several residences alight.52 It was on the second night of violence that one Muslim man and one Buddhist man were killed. Again, the police were unable to control the situation. It was later established that the rape allegation was fabricated.

The violence failed to find support in Mandalay, however. Perpetrators visited two large monasteries after dark in an attempt to recruit monks, but were turned away. Religious leaders from interfaith networks responded by alerting their networks and establishing a presence in the city, limiting the damage.53 Tensions were still high on 4 July, when the funeral for the Buddhist victim turned violent. Some attendees carried weapons, Muslim gravestones were destroyed, and an arson attempt was made on the cemetery’s mosque.54

Location Urban Population (City/Town) Sittwe 147,899 Thandwe 14,327 Mandalay 1,225,546 Lashio 174,335 Meiktila 111,522

Table 1.1: Urban Populations in the Five Case Studies55

52 Ibid., 22. 53 Ibid., 3; Mandalay-Based Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 11 July, 2016; Muslim Religious Leader, interview, Mandalay Township, Myanmar, 11 July, 2016. 54 Tin Aung Khine and Yadanar Oo, “Sixteen Arrested in Wake of Fresh Myanmar Violence,” Radio Free Asia, 7 July 2014, http://www.rfa.org/english/news/myanmar/arrests-07072014151556.html/. 55 Figures from 2014 Census. These figures were taken in 2014 and as such do not precisely represent the population of the locations at the time of violence. This figure given for Sittwe does not include several tens of thousands of people displaced from that town in the June 2012 violence. Furthermore, an estimated 1,090,000 Rohingya people were controversially not enumerated by the census due to their identity. Department of Population, “The 2014 Myanmar Population and Housing Census: The Union Report Census Report Volume 2,” (The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, May, 2015), http://themimu.info/sites/themimu.info/files/documents/Census_Union_Report_Eng_2015.pdf. 12

State/Region Total Buddhist Christian Islam Other (%)56 Population (%) (%) (%) Myanmar 50,279,900 89.8 6.3 2.3 1.6 Myanmar57 51,486,253 87.9 6.2 4.3 1.6 Kachin State 1,642,841 64.0 33.8 1.6 0.6 Kayah State 1,504,326 84.5 9.5 4.6 1.4 Chin State 478,801 13.0 85.4 0.1 1.5 Sagaing Region 5,325,347 92.2 6.5 1.1 0.2 Tanintharyi 1,408,401 87.5 7.2 5.1 0.2 Region Bago Region 4,867,373 93.5 2.9 1.2 2.4 Magwe Region 3,917,055 98.8 0.7 0.3 0.2 Mandalay Region 6,165,723 95.7 1.1 3.0 0.2 Mon State 2,054,393 92.6 0.5 5.8 1.1 Rakhine State 2,098,807 96.2 1.8 1.4 0.6 Rakhine State58 3,188,807 63.3 1.2 35.1 0.4 Yangon Region 7,360,703 91.0 3.2 4.7 1.1 Shan State 5,824,432 81.7 9.8 1.0 7.5 Ayeyawady 6,184,829 92.1 6.3 1.4 0.2 Region Nay Pyi Daw 1,160,242 96.8 1.1 2.1 0 Union Territory

Table 1.2: Population by Religion in States and Regions59

56 “Other” includes the census categories of Hindu, Animist, Other Religion and No Religion. 57 Includes non-enumerated population 58 Includes non-enumerated population 59 Figures from 2014 census, and suffer the same shortcoming as outlined above. Information on religion is not available at the township level. It is assumed both by the census and this thesis that the non- enumerated population in Rakhine State identity as Muslim. A total of 116,353 people were also non- enumerated in Kachin and Kayin States, but no indication is given as to their religion. Department of Population, “The 2014 Myanmar Population and Housing Census: The Union Report: Relgion Census Report Volume 2-C,” (The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, June, 2016), 13

1.2 Communalism, Violence and Democratic Transition In Myanmar the term lumyo (literally “person-type”) is commonly used to refer to both ethnic and religious identities, although it is commonly translated into English simply as “ethnicity”. In reflection of how the term is used in Myanmar as well as an analytical openness to identity, this thesis uses a broad definition of “communal” identity. Communal identity may include ethnic, religious, linguistic or locational identities. The definition of communal identity used in this thesis reflects that of Smith, who defines an ethnic group or ethnie as having six dimensions: a collective name, a common myth of descent, a shared history, a distinctive shared culture, an association with a specific territory, and a sense of solidarity.60 A central part of this definition is a “distinctive consciousness”, which should be shared by both those within and without an identity group.61 The literature often uses the terms “communal”, “ethnic” and “identity” to refer to the same concepts. While an effort is made to use the term communal consistently in this thesis, the original terms will be used in citations or where deemed necessary by context.

Conflict is defined as a “situation in which two or more actors pursue incompatible, yet from their individual perspectives entirely just, goals”.62 Conflict is inevitable in any political system with some openness and is not necessarily problematic. Communal conflict is one manifestation of this, during which the goals of at least one party are defined exclusively in terms of communal identity. This thesis is concerned with the violent expression of such conflict. The form of communal violence that this thesis is concerned with has elsewhere been called “riots” – “violence perpetrated by a group on another group”.63 In this case, we are concerned with groups who frame their interests in communal terms. Importantly, to say that the violence was “communal” does not mean that all groups party to the violence suffer to the same extent or carry equal http://themimu.info/sites/themimu.info/files/documents/Report_Religion_-_Census_Report_V2- C_DOP_Jul2016_ENG.pdf. 60 Anthony D Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford and New York: Basil Blackwell Ltd, 1987), 22- 31. 61 As highlighted by Snyder; Jack Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, New York, 2000), 23. 62 K Cordell and S Wolff, Ethnic Conflict (Cambridge, United Kingdom: Polity Press, 2009), 4-5. 63 Ashutosh Varshney, Mohammad Zulfan Tadjoeddin, and Rizal Pangabean, “Patterns of Collective Violence in Indonesia,” in Collective Violence in Indonesia, ed. Ashutosh Varshney (Boulder, London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2010), 21. 14 responsibility.64 Furthermore, calling the violence “communal” does not remove the state from the analysis, as will be shown throughout this thesis. Fundamentally different from the communal violence under consideration in this thesis are insurgency and rebellion, forms of violence which challenge the sovereignty of the state. Although such violence may be mobilised along communal lines, it is not included in this definition of communal violence, and is beyond the scope of this thesis.

Without assuming that democracy will be the end point of any transition away from authoritarian rule, this study requires a definition of democracy in order to analyse the political reforms underway during this period. This thesis uses a procedural definition of liberal democracy. This definition, as given by Diamond, has four key conditions: free and fair regular elections; substantial individual and groups freedoms and rights protections; no reserved power for unelected officials; and measures to ensure the rule of law is protected.65 The definition of democratic transition most useful to this study is O’Donnell and Schmitter’s. They define democratic transition as the “processes whereby the rules and procedures of citizenship are either applied to political institutions previously governed by other principles”; “expanded to include persons not previously enjoying such rights and obligations”; “or extended to cover issues and institutions not previously subject to citizen participation”.66 The rules and procedures referred to by O’Donnell and Schmitter are taken to be those of Diamond’s liberal democracy.

Questions of why communal violence occurred during this period of democratic transition in Myanmar have been given some attention. Historical explanations have stressed long-term division between communities and its exacerbation by an oppressive state.67 These explanations have tended to view the violence in large part as a continuation of its expression under military rule. Cheesman has also proposed the violence be understood as a product of longer-term factors, particularly as “an assertion

64 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 10; Cheesman, “Introduction: Interpreting Communal Violence in Myanmar,” 339. 65 Larry J. Diamond, Developing Democracy: Towards Consolidation (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 1999), 10-11. 66 G O'Donnell and PG Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore and London: The John Hopkins University Press, 1986), 8. 67 Ardeth Maung Thawngmung, “The Politics of Indigeneity in Myanmar: Competing Narratives in Rakhine State,” Asian Ethnicity 17, no. 4 (2016); Taylor O'Connor, “Pathways to Peace in Rakhine State,” New Mandala, 29 April 2014, http://www.newmandala.org/pathways-to-peace-in-rakhine-state/. 15 of modern statehood, in a country where the business of state formation is far from over”.68 Institutionalist explanations, meanwhile, have viewed the violence as a result of the changing institutions of state under political reforms. The ICG has suggested that the violence is a product of the unleashing of “deep societal divisions and hatred that were at least partially suppressed in the authoritarian past”.69

Other accounts see the violence as instrumental, usually tied to elites’ political or economic interests. Min Zin finds that the “pattern, nature, level, frequency and impact” of communal violence since 2012 differs from its previous incarnations, and particularly stresses how elites have been complicit in and have taken advantage of the violence.70 From another instrumentalist perspective, Francis Wade has argued that the violence was a manipulation of identity by elites, playing on historical xenophobia to unite the country’s diverse population against an internal foe.71 Researchers from the International State Crime Initiative (ISCI) found that the June 2012 violence in Sittwe against Rohingya communities “involved planned, highly organised state-sanctioned attacks”.72 It has been argued elsewhere that identity has been used to cover elites’ economic interests, to justify land confiscation for resource extraction or other development.73 Bertrand and Pelletier have suggested that communal violence was spurned by in-group competition for influence and access to resources among the sangha.74 This argument suggests that fear was used instrumentally by monastics to

68 Cheesman, “Introduction: Interpreting Communal Violence in Myanmar,” 339, 441. 69 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 20. 70 Min Zin, “Anti-Muslim Violence in Burma: Why Now?,” Social Research: An International Quarterly 82, no. 2 (2015): 376. 71 Wade, Myanmar's Enemy Within: Buddhist Violence and the Making of a Muslim “Other”. 72 Penny Green, Thomas MacManus, and Alicia de la Cour Venning, “Countdown to Annihilation: Genocide in Myanmar,” (London: International State Crime Initiative, 2015), 74, http://statecrime.org/data/2015/10/ISCI-Rohingya-Report-PUBLISHED-VERSION.pdf. 73 See for example; Saskia Sassen, “The Assault on the Rohingya Is Not Only About Religion — It’s Also About Land,” The Huffington Post, 15 September 2017, https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/rohingya-land-grab-military_us_59b96400e4b02da0e13e79f4. Sassen makes the same claims elsewhere; “Is Rohingya Persecution Caused by Business Interests Rather Than Religion?,” The Guardian, 5 January 2017, https://www.theguardian.com/global-development- professionals-network/2017/jan/04/is-rohingya-persecution-caused-by-business-interests-rather-than- religion; “Religion Is Not the Only Reason Rohingyas Are Being Forced out of Myanmar,” The Conversation, 12 September 2017, https://theconversation.com/religion-is-not-the-only-reason- rohingyas-are-being-forced-out-of-myanmar-83726. 74 Jacques Bertrand and Alexandre Pelletier, “Violent Monks in Myanmar: Scapegoating and the Contest for Power,” Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 23, no. 3 (2017). 16 position themselves as protectors of a religion under threat. Although not directly addressing the violence between 2012 and 2014, Prasse-Freeman has suggested that violence against the Rohingya allows marginalised or economically disenfranchised citizens to “bolster their identification with the nation state and gain access to scarce recourses”.75 This is a more subtle instrumentalist argument which is less concerned with elites. Some of the more conspiratorial instrumentalist accounts have suggested that “hidden hands” were behind the production of violence – an opaque reference to forces attempting to manipulate democratic transition through communal violence.76

These three broad categories of explanation fall into the same categories as the explanations found in the broader theoretical literature regarding communal violence and democratic transition; historical explanations, institutionalist explanations and instrumentalist explanations. The first emphasises the importance of the historical establishment of an inclusive political community before democratic transition if communal violence is to be avoided. Institutionalist explanations look to changes in political or security institutions during transition to explain violence. Finally, instrumentalist explanations are usually concerned with how elites manipulate identities during democratic transitions for economic or political advantage, appealing to exclusionary conceptions of identity and raising the likelihood of violence. These three explanations are considered in detail below.

1.2.1 Historical Explanations A considerable segment of the literature suggests that communal violence arises during democratic transition as a result of a historically divided polity. Historical explanations reflect a common theme: relations between communal groups must be inclusive and peaceful at a minimum, optimally constructive, before the democratic transition. In other words, an inclusive and cohesive conception of the political community should be established before democratic transition. If this condition is not met then the risk of communal violence is raised and a peaceful and successful transition to democracy

75 Elliott Prasse-Freeman, “The Rohingya and the World,” Jacobin, 28 December 2017, https://www.jacobinmag.com/2017/12/myanmar-rohingya-ethnic-cleansing-aung-san-suu-kyi. 76 Justice Trust, “Hidden Hands.” 17 jeopardised. These explanations reflect Rustow’s 1970 argument in his seminal article on transitions to democracy, that “national unity” is essential for peaceful and successful democratic transition. Rustow identified “national unity” as a pre-condition to successful democratic transition and defined it as a state in which “the vast majority of citizens… must have no doubt or mental reservations as to which political community they belong to”.77

More recently, the importance of historical factors has been highlighted across the literature, and it has been established that repressive policies under authoritarian rule exacerbate communal tensions at democratic transition. Henders has asserted that the risk of conflict during democratic transition is substantial if communal identity is exclusive or hierarchical under authoritarian rule.78 This argument echoes Bertrand, who has argued that violent conflict is especially likely if the armed forces has historically identified closely with one particular communal group, establishing an exclusive system of identity.79 Newman asserts that if the “pre-democratic state engaged in violent suppression of particular ethnoregional groups leading to the formation of violent ethnoregional movements then ethnoregional violence will likely continue during the democratization process”.80 Bell makes the same conclusion from a different perspective, and argues that if “harsh measures to suppress ethnic conflict in less-than- democratic societies have not reduced tensions, this is yet another reason to worry about the potential impact of democratization”.81 Similarly, Horowitz argues that if communal relations undergo significant improvements during the authoritarian period, a peaceful transition to democracy is much more likely.82 The repression or exclusion of

77 Dankwart A. Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” Comparative Politics 2, no. 3 (1970): 350. 78 Susan J. Henders, “Political Regimes and Ethnic Identities in East and Southeast Asia: Beyond the “Asian Values” Debate,” in Democratization and Identity: Regimes and Ethnicity in East and Southeast Asia, ed. Susan J. Henders (Plymouth, UK: Lexington Books, 2007), 11. 79 Jacques Bertrand, “Democratization and Religious and Nationalist Conflict in Post-Suharto Indonesia,” ibid., 194. 80 Saul Newman, Ethnoregional Conflict in Democracies: Mostly Ballots, Rarely Bullets (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1996), 241. 81 Daniel A. Bell, “Is Democracy the “Least Bad” System for Minority Groups?,” in Democratization and Identity: Regimes and Ethnicity in East and Southeast Asia, ed. Susan J. Henders (Plymouth, UK: Lexington Books, 2007), 37. 82 Donald L. Horowitz, “Democracy in Divided Societies,” in Nationalism, Ethnic Conflict, and Democracy, ed. Larry Diamond and Mark F. Plattner (Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 1994), 36. 18 particular communal groups during the authoritarian period does not have to be overtly violent. In Indonesia, for example, as Suharto increasingly identified his rule with Islam religious minorities were excluded and tensions heightened, setting the scene for violence when a transition to democracy was imminent.83

While one consequence of a lack of an inclusive political community may be communal violence, another may be the failure of the state to successfully transition to democracy. This is the proposition put forward by Linz and Stepan, who argue that;

The greater the percentage of people in a given state who were born there or who had not arrived perceiving themselves as foreign citizens, who are denied citizenship in the state and whose life chances are hurt by such denial, the more unlikely it is that this state will consolidate democracy.84

Baogang He expresses scepticism over the importance of national unity and cites the examples of liberal democracies South Korea and Taiwan as proof that the problem can be deferred during the democratisation process.85 He’s evidence suggests that different questions over national unity may affect the transition process differently. The deficit of national unity in states such as India, Indonesia and Myanmar are very different from the examples of South Korea and Taiwan – in which the excluded populations (in North Korea or on mainland China) are granted belonging to another state. It should also be noted that in Taiwan, inter-ethnic alliances in place before democratisation played a substantial role in a peaceful transition, ensuring inclusive political behaviour during the democratic transition.86 Importantly, Wimmer suggests that a strong network of civil society can ensure inclusive political behaviour during democratic transition.87 While a completely inclusive or cohesive sense of the political national community may not be

83 Henders, “Political Regimes and Ethnic Identities in East and Southeast Asia: Beyond the “Asian Values” Debate,” 12. 84 Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore, London: The John Hopkins University Press, 2006), 33. 85 Baogang He, “The National Identity Problem and Democratization: Rustow's Theory of Sequence,” Government and Opposition 36, no. 1 (2001): 106. 86 Jacques Bertrand and Oded Haklai, “Democratization and Ethnic Minorities,” in Democratization and Ethnic Minorities, ed. Jacques Bertrand and Oded Haklai (New York: Routledge, 2014), 57. 87 Andreas Wimmer, “Democracy and Ethno-Religious Conflict in Iraq,” Survival 45, no. 4 (2003): 113. 19 necessary for successful democratisation, its absence is certainly necessary for communal violence.

Ultimately, this is a question of nation-building and of whether this process can be sufficiently achieved before democratic transition. A major failure of this explanation is that it does not address a central question – why does communal violence occur when it does? If communal groups were divided before transition, why is it only now that violence has emerged or become more frequent or intense? This thesis argues that a cohesive political community or lack thereof is a crucial factor, and communal violence cannot be explained without it. This approach, however, needs to be taken in conjunction with more comprehensive accounts of communal violence, and a consideration of the short-term factors behind violence.

1.2.2 Institutionalist Explanations Institutional explanations contend that communal violence can be explained as a result of formal state structures. To explain communal violence under democratic transition, then, we are concerned with changes in such institutions. Two distinct institutional explanations can be found. The first is concerned with political institutions and their variations during democratic transition – such as electoral systems, decentralisation, or the court system. The second explanation analyses how changing security structures during transition produce communal violence.

Political Institutionalist Explanations The importance of institutions for managing conflict during democratic transition has been widely noted.88 During transition, violence threatens to derail the reform process before the system develops new mechanisms to manage conflict. Political institutionalist explanations often point to the conundrum that in the early stages of

88 See, for example, Bertrand and Haklai, “Democratization and Ethnic Minorities,” 44; Jacques Bertrand and Sanjay Jeram, “Democratization and the Determinants of Ethnic Violence: The Rebel-Moderate Organizational Nexus,” ibid., 245; R.J. Rummel, “Democracy, Power, Genocide, and Mass Murder,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 39, no. 1 (1995). 20 democratic transition new liberties allow grievances to be expressed openly; yet young institutions lack the mechanisms or capacity to non-violently resolve such disputes. Bertrand and Jeram also note the importance of the state’s provision of legitimate channels or institutions through which to express grievances if violence is to be avoided.89 Political institutionalist explanations may also note that during transitions there is a deficit of credible guarantees to protect minority rights. Wimmer notes that as state capacity is often low for states emerging from authoritarian rule, patron-client relations develop along established communal lines, encouraging communal violence.90 These explanations often conclude that it is not democratisation that causes conflict, but rather not enough democracy, and in particular a lack of rule of law. As proof, these arguments cite evidence that liberal democracies and authoritarian regimes both exhibit low levels of violent conflict; while in semi-democracies political violence is much more frequent or intense.91

While the development of strong institutions will contribute to stability, an explanation that focuses solely on this factor simplifies the causes of violence, and neglects the agency of actors both of and outside the state. This is drawn out by Maung Zarni and Cowley, who, specific to the situation in Myanmar, argue that

the historical continuity of the abuses and strategies used to harm the Rohingya show that the processes are, to a large extent, the result of the pre- existing and continuing military and power structures, rather than simply the product of recent changes in the formal political processes.92

Political institutionalist explanations of communal violence oversimplify the time invested to develop democratic institutions and the rule of law. Furthermore, many authoritarian or transitional governments lack the incentives, legitimacy or capacity to establish effective institutions. As underdeveloped institutions are also a feature of the previous authoritarian regime, the informal non-state institutions used to manage

89 Bertrand and Jeram, “Democratization and the Determinants of Ethnic Violence: The Rebel-Moderate Organizational Nexus,” 245. 90 Wimmer, “Democracy and Ethno-Religious Conflict in Iraq,” 113. 91 Ibid., 119. 92 Alice Cowley and Maung Zarni, “The Slow-Burning Genocide of Myanmar's Rohingya,” Pacific Rim Law and Policy Journal 23, no. 3 (2014): 688. 21 conflict during authoritarian rule may offer lessons on how to manage conflict during democratic transitions.93

According to Bertrand, two related preconditions are particularly conducive to communal violence; the fostering and containing of tensions between communal groups; and the contestation of which groups are to be included in the nation.94 He presented a historical institutionalist argument to show why violence occurred in Indonesia during democratic transition there. Bertrand argued that as governmental institutions represent a conception of the nation, when a “critical juncture” – such as democratic transition – occurs, the idea of the nation is opened for contestation by communal groups.95 This explains why violence occurs when it does. The strength of a historical institutionalist explanation is that it can also explain why violence was directed towards particular communities, by incorporating a historical perspective presenting precedents of violence and the development of identity over time.

Security Institutionalist Explanations Security institutionalist explanations argue that changing security contexts can explain communal violence during democratic transition. The withdrawal of the military or an oppressive authoritarian security apparatus is said to contribute to communal violence. By understanding how communal groups exist in peace during unchanging governance, this approach claims an insight into the breakdown of order during political change.

As a consequence of seeing parallels between the international political system and relations between communal groups after the breakdown of authoritarian rule, Posen applied the security dilemma concept from the realist tradition of international relations theory to “the special conditions that arise when proximate groups of people suddenly find themselves newly responsible for their own security”.96 Although Posen developed

93 This is evidently an assumption of Tajima’s 2014 book. Yuhki Tajima, The Institutional Origins of Communal Violence: Indonesia's Transition from Authoritarian Rule (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 94 Bertrand, “Democratization and Religious and Nationalist Conflict in Post-Suharto Indonesia,” 178. 95 Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004). 96 Barry R Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,” Survival: Global Politics and Strategy 35, no. 1 (1993): 27. 22 his argument with the conditions of when “imperial order breaks down” in mind, there are evidently parallels between this context and many other transitions from authoritarian rule, including the withdrawal or restraint of a strong regime. Posen argues that in the context of a divided society the “collapse produces conditions that make offensive and defensive capabilities indistinguishable and make the offence superior to the defence”.97 As per the security dilemma, this raises the likelihood of conflict, as mutual suspicions take hold, followed by violence. In a period of political change, communal groups are concerned with their physical security, the security of their identity, and the security of their influence in the future political system. These are evidently some of the most fundamental concerns of communal groups. Indeed, Posen argues that “the drive for security in one group can be so great that it produces near- genocidal behaviour towards neighbouring groups”.98

Lake and Rothchild present an argument similar to Posen’s, focusing on how informational failures and problems of credible commitment combine to create a security dilemma.99 While much of their explanation of communal violence reflects Posen, Lake and Rothchild also emphasise that communal activists and political entrepreneurs have a role in building fears of insecurity and polarising society.100 Posen, however, rejects the importance of any elite role in fermenting conflict.101 The security dilemma is also central to other literature on communal violence. Kaufman argues that the essential preconditions for communal violence are; a group mythology which justifies inter-communal hostility; that another communal group is considered a threat; and an opportunity to mobilise. These factors, although necessary, will not be sufficient for communal violence, argues Kaufman. A security dilemma, mass hostility, and nationalistic political mobilisation, are also necessary factors.102

All of the conditions required by the security dilemma cannot be found in the intra-state context, however, making its application to communal violence during democratic

97 Ibid., 29. 98 Ibid., 30. 99 David A. Lake and Donald Rothchild, “Containing Fear: The Origins and Management of Ethnic Conflict,” International Security 21, no. 2 (1996). 100 Ibid., 41. 101 Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,” 29. 102 Kaufman 2001, citied in Cordell and Wolff, Ethnic Conflict, 30-31. 23 transition arguably problematic. The anarchical nature of the international system is absent within the environment of the nation-state – even under a weak state. In the analysis of communal violence the actors are very different from states, and cannot be interpreted in the same framework. Their security concerns differ, and will show different patterns of mobilisation and agency. Furthermore, the application of the security dilemma to the intra-state context risks removing the state from the equation. This carries heavy risks and contributes to what Brass has called “blame displacement”.103 In many cases of communal violence, the state has endorsed the violence to varying degrees and actors of the state have participated in the violence. Theories that emphasise the security dilemma have also been criticised for not accurately reflecting reality. In particular, Tajima rejects Posen’s expectation that violence will continue until the state intervenes or communal groups segregate themselves.104 Instead, he cites instances in which groups do not segregate, yet still manage communal security without the state’s intervention.105

Tajima develops another security institutionalist explanation, arguing that during departures from authoritarian rule changes in security are more nuanced. He contends that communal violence is a result of “mismatches between formal and informal institutions”.106 In a study of communal violence during Indonesia’s democratic transition, Tajima found that informal security institutions in some locations had relied heavily on (the threat of, or actual,) intervention from security forces prior to transition. In areas with weak state penetration, however, effective institutions had developed independent of the state – they could not count on the state to intervene if communal violence arose. These informal institutions could both effectively manage crime and avoid communal violence at the same time.107 In contrast, areas with deeper state penetration could adopt “more aggressive security institutions”, which would risk violence without such a strong presence of the state.108 When Jakarta restrained the military in 1996, as a precursor to democratic reforms, communal violence emerged in

103 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 15-16. 104 Tajima, The Institutional Origins of Communal Violence, 22. 105 Ibid. 106 Ibid., 9. 107 Ibid., 10. 108 Ibid., 9. 24 areas with a greater state presence.109 Gledhill also encourages a nuanced account of security forces under political change, arguing that “rather than defaulting to thinking of the state as a unitary actor that is either strong or weak, we would do well to recognize that states are actually collective actors, which have a multitude of semiautonomous moving parts”.110 Gledhill’s conclusions differ from Tajima’s, as he found that competition between different sectors of the state’s security services to secure resources in the future regime can provoke violence.111

While political institutionalist explanations emphasise that political institutions such as insufficient mechanisms for conflict management, particular electoral systems, or underdeveloped rule of law at the time of transition encourages people to take their grievances to the streets, security institutionalist explanations examine changing dynamics of national or local security guarantees. The influence of political institutionalist explanations can be seen in recommendations to policy makers on how best to manage communal conflict through institutions.

Institutional explanations of communal violence, however, fall short of a full explanation. They cannot explain why communal violence takes place in certain locations and not others. In a state undergoing democratic transition, why does communal violence occur in one location but not another, given that they are both within the same polity? With the exception of Tajima, this is a national level explanation which pays little attention to local circumstances and actors.

1.2.3 Instrumentalist Explanations Instrumentalists argue that communal identity is a proxy for other interests. There is a strong focus on the ways in which elites use communal identity or violence for their own economic or political benefits. Elites themselves may or may not “believe in ethnicity”

109 Ibid., 9, 23. 110 John Gledhill, “Competing for Change: Regime Transition, Intrastate Competition, and Violence,” Security Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 81. 111 Ibid., 50. 25 themselves, and this is of low relevance to instrumentalists.112 Democratic transitions are inherently uncertain processes, and the outcome cannot be guaranteed. During this time a range of political opportunities open for communal elites and activists.113 There are also commitment problems during democratic transitions, which spurn divisive communalist rhetoric from elites. The risk of waiting to see their position in the new system is too high, and communal leaders may mobilise supporters to commit violence against groups they perceive as threatening.

Mansfield and Snyder present an instrumentalist explanation to show why aggressive nationalism and war are more likely during democratic transition.114 As a result of the conditions of “weak central authority, unstable domestic coalitions, and high-energy mass politics”, both “the newly ambitious elites and the embattled old ruling groups often use appeals to nationalism to stay astride their unmanageable political coalitions”.115 In his book, “From Voting to Violence”, Snyder’s “elite-persuasion” theory expands upon this earlier work, arguing that democratising states are not only more likely to go to war with other countries, but are also more likely to experience civil war, or other internal unrest. Snyder recognises the popularity of nationalist appeals during democratic transitions and explains why these are so are attractive to elites.116 He argues that by framing governance through nationalism, elites can claim to be ruling by the people (although not of the people), thus satisfying some demands for mass political participation.117 In a heterogeneous state, elites will also commonly target communal minorities and exclude them from participation. Snyder argues that “[t]his tactic not only justifies curtailing the democratic rights of these purported ‘enemies from within’, but just as importantly, it has a chilling effect on freedom of expression among all citizens”.118 It can be added that this tactic will deflect popular dissatisfaction with the

112 Ashutosh Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life : Hindus and Muslims in India (New Haven; London: Yale University Press, 2002), 27. 113 Ted Robert Gurr, Peoples Versus States: Minorities at Risk in the New Century (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 2000), 85. 114 Edward D. Mansfield and Jack Snyder, “Democratization and War,” Foreign Affairs 74, no. 3 (1995): 94. 115 Ibid., 88. 116 Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 36. 117 Ibid. 118 Ibid., 37. 26 government to the targeted minority. Snyder suggests that elites are using identity instrumentally for their own interests – to consolidate votes and to restrict checks on their power.

Snyder’s theory has strong explanatory potential. There are, however, a series of problems that arise which Snyder neglects. One is a reflection of a deficit in the literature. Snyder offers no explanation for why non-elites become involved in violence. How do elites dupe publics into seemingly irrational behaviour, from which they stand to lose so much? Furthermore, Snyder argues that democratic transition “gives rise to nationalism because it serves the interest of powerful groups within the nation who seek to harness popular energies to the tasks of war and economic development without surrendering real political authority to the average citizen”.119 Yet the reasons given for this are insufficient, as there is no explanation as to why this phenomenon should be exclusive to transitions. Authoritarian and democratic governments frequently appeal to nationalism to legitimise their rule, and this is not limited to times of democratic transition or popular demand for political representation. Relatedly, this explanation fails to explain elite appeals to nationalism during top-down transitions which feature limited popular demands. In such a context, there is less need to appeal to nationalism. The connection between democracy and nationalism is not laid out by Snyder, yet is integral to his argument.

Based on a detailed examination of communal violence during Indonesia’s transition, Gerry van Klinken concluded that local elites, “stirred to action by rapid changes taking place in the structure of the state” mobilised crowds along communal lines “in order to maintain their privileged access to the state or even, if possible, to expand it”.120 This is largely an instrumentalist explanation, again focused on elites who were;

generally close to the levers of local power. The leading brokers were stirred to action by rapid changes taking place in the structure of the state. The devolution of authority to lower levels of the state, combined with democratizing

119 Ibid., 36. 120 Gerry van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars (Milton Park, Britain: Routledge, 2007), 139. 27

changes in the way key office-holders were appointed, unleashed intense competitive dynamics.121

Van Klinken found that communal violence in Indonesia was “local politics by other means”.122 Identity was used by elites for economic and political benefit. Political leaders mobilised supporters on a communal basis in order to gain political power. Van Klinken used a contentious politics approach which also suggested violence as a result of attribution of opportunity under institutional changes in the state, as suggested by the above quote. Van Klinken showed that those involved in the violence on the streets “were not middle-class democracy activists or urban workers, but members of local communities claiming to be driven by their religious or ethnic identities”,123 after being led by elites.

Similarly, Brass’ seminal work on Hindu-Muslim violence in post-independence India found that “riots are an integral part of the process of political/electoral competition”, and that political elites are implicated in each riot.124 Although concerned with communal violence taking place in the context of a democratic state rather than during democratic transition, Brass’ comprehensive account of the “institutionalized riot system” is placed in the context of electoral politics and in part reflects an instrumentalist approach to communal violence. Brass defined the institutionalised riot system as

a perpetually operative network of roles whose functions are to maintain communal hostilities, recruit persons to protest against or otherwise make public or bring to the notice of the authorities incidents presumed dangerous to the peace of the city, mobilize crowds or threaten or intimidate persons from the other community, recruit criminals for violent actions when it is desired to “retaliate”

121 Ibid., 138-39. 122 Ibid., 138. 123 Ibid., 21. 124 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 242. 28

against persons from the other community and, if the political context is right, to let loose widespread violent action.125

Brass found “a direct causal link between riots and electoral/political competition”, and argues that “riots are a product of actions designed to consolidate one community or the other or both at the local, regional and national levels into a cohesive political bloc”.126 There is a “continuum” between riots and political rivalry which may start at either end. Another aspect of the institutionalised riot system offers more to the explanation of violence. While Brass recognises that constant communal tension is required for communal violence to begin, these prejudices and tensions are anything but primordial “ancient hatreds” to Brass. A critical part of the institutionalised riot system is “keeping the fires of communalism tended”, so that violence can be generated when deemed politically useful.127 In other words, actors (including political elites) strive to keep tensions between communal groups active and to politicise identity.

Instrumentalist explanations emphasise that elite posturing is central to the emergence of communal violence during democratic transition. There is some scepticism, however, regarding the importance of elites. Bertrand, for instance, argues that elites are only successful at rousing publics “when prior grievances are present and sufficiently widespread”, due in no small part to the fact that “group identities are created and politicized prior to the democratic transition, as opposed to being created during the transition itself”.128 Posen presents a critique of instrumentalism, and argues that “very little nationalist rabble-rousing or nationalistic combativeness is required to generate very dangerous situations”.129 Duncan also takes issue with instrumentalist explanations, and encourages observers to take identity more seriously.130 Instead of treating religion as a sphere separate from political and social life, he argues, religious life should be conceived of as an embodiment of identities and their change, intrinsically linked to interactions, rather than as an irrelevant sphere, as suggested by

125 Ibid., 258. 126 Ibid., 33-34. 127 Ibid., 261. 128 Bertrand, “Democratization and Religious and Nationalist Conflict in Post-Suharto Indonesia,” 195. 129 Posen, “The Security Dilemma and Ethnic Conflict,” 29. 130 Christopher R. Duncan, Violence and Vengeance: Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2013), 3, 4. 29 instrumentalist explanations.131 Instrumentalist explanations find it difficult to explain why followers follow, and why non-elites become involved in communal violence when the risks are so high. The economic or political benefits for a small number of elites cannot explain this. Few accounts report on this detail, leaving a significant gap in these explanations.

The variety of explanations for communal violence during democratic transitions reflects the empirical reality that there is no one general theory that will explain all instances. While historical explanations of communal violence contribute to understanding the ways in which violence is perpetrated – by whom and against whom –, explanations which focus on shorter-term factors (institutions or actors) can contribute towards explaining why violence occurs at certain times. Any explanation should also recognise that the roles of influential elites and the specific conditions under which a state transitions to democracy can modify the likelihood of communal violence.

1.3 Methodology In lieu of the shortcomings of the explanations of communal violence during democratic transition considered above, this thesis explores a more novel approach. Similar to the work of Brass and van Klinken, this thesis uses the literature of contentious politics, a social movements theory, to understand communal violence.132 Brass notes that “most causal explanations of rioting” are problematic, as they attempt to “explain riots rather than to understand the purposes and effects of riots in interpersonal, economic, intercommunal and political relations”.133 A contentious politics approach presents a dynamic schema of actors, opportunities and mechanisms. This allows the researcher to view the interaction between communal violence and democratic transition.

Contentious politics challenges the accepted practice of analysing different episodes of contention through separate literatures. In their seminal 2001 work, McAdam, Tarrow

131 Ibid., 4. 132 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 12; van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars. 133 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 368. 30 and Tilly argued that disparate episodes such as democratisation, revolution, or civil war have more in common than is usually recognised, and advocated analysing them through similar means. There have been significant findings in each of these separate literatures, but little attention has been paid to similarities. Contentious politics approaches argue that via this approach more can be learnt about all of these episodes.134

The literature asks three fundamental questions about actors, identities and actions respectively. “Who makes claims, and why do they do so?”; “Who do they and others say they are, and why do they say so?”; and, “What forms do their claim making take and why?”.135 Contentious politics argues that central to the development of contention are social interaction and social construction. Dynamic interactions between actors, identities and actions are stressed. Contentious politics theory identifies recurrent mechanisms and studies how different starting points and combinations of mechanisms produce different outcomes.136 Crucially, it recognises the importance of history.137

The contentious politics literature uses three units of analysis: episodes, processes and mechanisms. Episodes are comprised of processes, which in turn are comprised of mechanisms. Identifying and understanding which mechanisms and processes start and continue an episode of contention will indicate why some episodes are longer and more successful than others.138 These distinctions are often rough. Tilly notes, for instance, that “brokerage” may be called a process or a mechanism.139 It is impossible to explain the complexity of an entire episode, such as the democratisation of a particular state – or in the case of this thesis multiple occasions of communal violence during a period of democratic transition. Therefore, a contentious politics approach “consists of singling out problematic features of the phenomena at hand, then identifying recurrent mechanisms that produce those features”.140

134 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 4. 135 Ibid., 126. 136 Ibid., 13. 137 Ibid., 186. 138 Ibid., 67. 139 Charles Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 22. 140 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 86-87. 31

Contentious politics took the static concepts of social movement theory and made them dynamic and interactive. There were four key concepts in the social movement literature: political opportunities, mobilising structures, collective action frames, and repertoires of contention.141 Contentious politics argued that the social movement agenda was asking the right questions in the right way, but failed to provide adequate answers. This was due to a concern with single actors to the neglect of relations between actors and causal sequences.142 The discussion moved away from models such as the rational choice model and towards the “analysis of smaller-scale causal mechanisms that recur in different combinations with different aggregate consequences in varying historical settings”.143

There are two types of contention. While “contained” contention operates within the establishment, the contentious politics literature is mostly concerned with “transgressive” contention – defined as

episodic, public, collective interaction among makers of claims and their objects when (a) a least one government is a claimant, an object of claims, or a party to the claims, (b) the claims would, if realized, affect the interests of at least one of the claimants, (c) at least some parties to the conflict are newly self-identified political actors, and/or (d) at least some parties employ innovative collective action (action which is unprecedented or forbidden within the regime in question).144

Patterns of communal violence in Myanmar reflect these criteria. Communal violence, its perpetrators and objects challenge and make claims on the government (both during and after the violence); concerns emergent political actors; is deeply concerned with group interest; and concerns forbidden forms of action.

The contentious politics approach is a theory of broad scope. Its capacity to be applied to various episodes – each with its own body of literature – does mean that there is a lack of precision and clarity in the concepts. Furthermore, there are an overwhelmingly

141 Ibid., 14-15. 142 Ibid., 72. 143 Ibid., 24. 144 Ibid., 7-8. 32 large number of mechanisms identified by the literature. Regardless, or perhaps because of these perceived shortcomings, contentious politics theory offers a useful framework through which the diverse phenomena of communal violence and democratic transition can be understood.

This thesis investigates relationships between democratic transition and communal violence in the case of Myanmar between 2012 and 2014. The central research question of this thesis is:

What is the relationship between democratic transition and communal violence?

Of the various research objectives identified by George and Bennett,145 theory testing and identifying new causal mechanisms are both relevant to this study. Existing theories are investigated in a new case and causal mechanisms identified. To reach these ends, this project combines structured, focused case studies with process-tracing methodology. Structured, focused comparison requires a set of standardised general questions drawn from the research objective and analytical framework to be asked of each case. The comparison is theoretically focused. As any single event can be relevant for a variety of theoretical topics,146 it is important to focus the study within a theoretical framework.

One of the strongest contributions of recent literature regarding qualitative research methodology “has been to reinforce and further develop the idea that robust causal analysis can be carried out through within-case analysis”.147 Process-tracing is a dominant qualitative method which “attempts to identify the intervening causal process – the causal chain and causal mechanism – between an independent variable (or variables) and the outcome”.148 It has been identified as a valuable methodology for developing, as well as testing, theory.149 Its value for studying communal violence has

145 A L George and A Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005), 75-76. 146 Ibid., 70. 147 Oisín Tansey, “Process Tracing and Elite Interviewing: A Case for Non-Probability Sampling,” PS: Political Science and Politics 40, no. 4 (2007): 765. 148 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences, 206. 149 Ibid., 217; David Collier, “Understanding Process Tracing,” PS: Political Science and Politics 44, no. 4 (2011). 33 also been noted by Varshney.150 In comparisons of case studies, process-tracing can reveal different casual paths to the same outcome,151 or confirm similar processes. This is the value of studying different cases. Although the identification of the most important processes or mechanisms thereof can be problematic, sensitive reconstruction of the “historical sequential processes” can overcome this problem.152 Furthermore, process-tracing requires a more substantial burden of proof than quantitative observations.153 Additionally, the detailed process-tracing method used will offer important empirical data for future researchers.

In this study the outcome under investigation, or dependent variable, is communal violence. The independent variables are democratic transition and its processes, as identified by the analytical framework of this thesis in Chapter 2. However, a dynamic contentious politics analysis views both communal violence and democratic transition less as variables, and more as processes which interact. That is, it is not assumed that the causality is simply unidirectional. This methodology allows for investigation of how communal violence occurs, but also the interplay between communal violence and democratic transition.

The single-country research design provides for effective comparison, as variables at the national level are constant across all cases. Of these, the most obvious is regime type. Accordingly, decentralisation, civil and political liberties, elections, and other centrally controlled reforms are for the most part constant across the case studies. Other factors vary across case studies. As well as the history and local dynamics of communal demographics, the presence of Buddhist nationalist organisations will vary, as will the extent to which local politicians and other elites promoted exclusionary forms of nationalism. The multi-case single-country approach allows these variables to be isolated for comparative analysis.

150 Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life : Hindus and Muslims in India, 14. 151 George and Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences, 82. 152 Cathie Jo Martin, “Crafting Interviews to Capture Cause and Effect,” in Interview Research in Political Science, ed. Layna Mosley (Cornell: Cornell University Press, 2013), 118. 153 Mahoney 2009, cited in ibid. 34

The selection of a variety of cases will minimise any selection bias, while the accurate reflection of a larger set maximises the applicability of results from the study. The Bamar are the majority communal group in Myanmar, consisting of some 60 per cent of the population. The locations selected represent a balance of predominantly Bamar and non-Bamar majority populations, and are also home to various communities of Myanmar Muslims, reflecting the diverse demographics of locations where communal violence occurred in Myanmar between 2012 and 2014.

Five instances of communal violence constitute the case studies of this research; Sittwe in June 2012, Meiktila in March 2013, Lashio in May 2013, Thandwe in October 2013 and Mandalay in July 2014. Other instances of violence, most significantly the violence across Rakhine State in October 2012 and in that state since, are also considered throughout the text. Interview fieldwork was conducted in the five key focus locations of Sittwe, Meiktila, Lashio, Thandwe and Mandalay, as well as in Myanmar’s commercial capital Yangon and in Dhaka and Chittagong, Bangladesh. The vast majority of fieldwork took place between September 2015 and November 2016, when the researcher was based in Yangon. A first follow-up research trip took place between March and April 2017 before a second in June 2017. Due to time constraints, security concerns and a lack of capacity, research was more successful in some locations than others. In total, 139 respondents formally participated in this research in 101 interviews and five focus groups.154 Focus groups were conducted with between 3 to 10 respondents from the same community. Please see Table 1.3, Table 1.4 and Table 1.5 below for more information regarding locations of fieldwork, interviews and focus groups.

154 In a number of interviews, there were two participants. 35

Location No. of No. of Interviews Interviewees Sittwe 32 37

Thandwe 8 10

Meiktila 8 9

Mandalay 16 17

Lashio 17 17

Yangon 13 14

Bangladesh 5 6 (Chittagong and Dhaka) Other 2 2

Total 101 112

Table 1.3 Fieldwork Interviews

Location Buddhist Muslim Other/Unknown Total No. of Religion Interviewees Sittwe 26 11 - 37

Thandwe 5 5 - 10

Meiktila 3 3 3 9

Mandalay 9 6 2 17

Lashio 9 5 3 17

Yangon 4 6 4 14

Bangladesh 1 5 - 6 (Chittagong and Dhaka) Other - 2 - 2

Total 57 43 12 112

Table 1.4 Fieldwork Interviews by Religious Identity

Focus Group/ Male Female Ethnicity/Religion Total No. of Location Participants Sittwe Kaman 5 5 Kaman 10 Village Sittwe Rakhine 2 2 Rakhine 4 Village Sittwe Rakhine 2 1 Rakhine 3 IDP Camp Thandwe 1 2 Kaman and 3 Kaman Village Rakhine Lashio Muslim 7 - Muslim 7 Community Leaders Total 17 10 27

Table 1.5 Fieldwork Focus Groups

The primary data for the thesis was collected through in-depth interviews with political, religious, community and civil society leaders as well as other community members. Historical research methods are used to collate data. The secondary sources for this research include journal articles, academic books, media reports, and publications by research organisations and other non-governmental organisations.

All interviews were conducted by the researcher either in English, Myanmar, Rakhine or Rohingya languages, most with assistance from interpreters familiar with those languages and the local context. The sensitivity of the issues under investigation dictated that careful consideration had to be taken when finding an interpreter to work with. Ongoing tensions between communities in Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, for example, meant that working with an interpreter who identified as Rakhine when interviewing Rohingya respondents would not only compromise the accuracy of responses but could also risk the personal safety of the researchers and respondents or inflame tensions in an area where segregation remained enforced. 38

Interviewees were not randomly selected, but were selected on their involvement in the processes under investigation. In-depth interview research at the local level is invaluable for understanding communal violence. If the violence was only analysed from the national level, local understandings would be neglected. This is crucial, as local understandings of the violence will be paramount to the resolution of conflict or replication of any violence in the future.

At the outset of this project, it was planned that a “controlled set” of cases would also be included, a methodological approach not uncommon in recent studies of communal violence.155 However, due to a lack of capacity, lack of access to networks and time restraints this could not be completed. The controlled set consisted of two locations without the outcome of communal violence. When compared to the five cases that did experience communal violence, the importance of certain variables could be highlighted. The controlled set consisted of a predominantly Bamar and a predominantly non-Bamar town, both with significant Muslim minorities and the presence of active Buddhist nationalist organisations. Varshney has shown that studying similar cases remains valuable for testing or proposing theory.156

Fieldwork on the topics of exclusion and violence in a context of what may amount to ethnic cleansing presents sensitivities and ethical challenges. On one hand, the research must avoid legitimising prejudiced attitudes which contribute towards the production of violence. On the other, to gain a necessary understanding of these dominant attitudes some level of engagement with actors expressing these views is necessary. This raises a series of questions. To what extent should the researcher express disagreement with a respondent or present a contrasting perspective? When does this fall outside of the purpose of a research project? In a research project such as this, the researcher is the outsider with little local knowledge or authority to speak on the topic of inclusion of minorities or local relations between communities. It was often clear during research that my worldview and conception of “national belonging” and identity was vastly

155 See, for example, Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life : Hindus and Muslims in India; Rachael Diprose, “Decentralization, Horizontal Inequalities and Conflict Management in Indonesia,” Ethnopolitics 8, no. 1 (2009): 110, 15. 156 Ashutosh Varshney, “Analyzing Collective Violence in Indonesia: An Overview,” in Collective Violence in Indonesia, ed. Ashutosh Varshney (Boulder, London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2010), 8. 39 different from that of respondent’s – the context of citizenship rules in Australia and my own place in a history of colonialism presented me with a framework which seemed to hold little stead in the context of Myanmar. This presented challenges, but also opportunities to facilitate discussion during both formal interview and informal situations during fieldwork. The majority of respondents were open to disagreement on the issues under investigation and often were interested to hear how citizenship and diversity are managed in other contexts. These issues will continue to be debated in Myanmar and discussions with outsiders may be difficult but also present opportunities to challenge dominant narratives.

1.4 Structure and Arguments This thesis makes a historical institutionalist argument. Communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar between 2012 and 2014 should be understood as an outcome of three related factors; a historically exclusively defined national political community, the promotion of exclusionary forms of communal identity by elites at transition, and the availability of non-elites willing to perpetrate violence. First, a weak or exclusive sense of national identity at the time of democratic transition was a necessary condition for violence. If relations between different communal groups are exclusive or polarised at the time of transition, there is a high risk that competition for inclusion or influence in the new system can turn violent. Democratic transition opens questions of elections, constitutions, federal systems and other political institutions. These are questions of the boundaries of the nation and therefore questions of the boundaries of the national community – of who can vote and of who is allowed representation. During democratic transition, the belonging and place of individuals and identity groups in the new conception of the nation are contested. Similarly, questions of who is to be included and excluded from the new conception of the nation are contested. While democratic transition opened these questions of belonging, there is no democratic logic as to where the boundaries of the political community should lie.157 In Myanmar, the boundaries of the national community and the places of different

157 Ghia Nodia, “Nationalism and Democracy,” Journal of Democracy (1992): 6-7. 40 communal groups within them had not been defined before transition. For reasons which were historical and contemporary, as well as local, national and international; it was Muslims who were targeted in communal violence as their place in the Myanmar nation was questioned. Muslim, and particularly Rohingya, communities have been defined as outside of the national community by the state for decades. This can be traced to their exclusion from the taing-yintha or “national races” framework – the 135 “national races” accepted by the government of Myanmar.158 The exclusion of these communities under this framework has a high degree of acceptance in Myanmar society, and is supported by influential religious, political and community leaders. Furthermore, the exclusion of the Rohingya and their successful construction as a threat by the state can explain why so much of the violence in this period was anti-Rohingya violence.

Second, appeals to and the promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism by elites during transition were a necessary condition for violence in this case. The emergence of local and national politics for the first time in almost half a century created the conditions for the promotion of divisive forms of nationalism. The historical exclusive definition of the political community is a related factor. This determined which communities this dangerous nationalism was directed at – which communities were deemed not to belong to the new Myanmar. As Muslim communities were already defined as excluded from the political community or as a threat to it, this narrative strengthened at transition. A form of Buddhist nationalism, localised and temporal,159 emerged during this period – reflecting the combination of religious and communal identities in Myanmar’s national identity. Elites also appealed to these narratives to

158 The 135 “national races” are listed under the categories of eight “major national ethnic races”; Kachin, Kayah, Kayin, Chin, Bamar, Mon, Rakhine and Shan. The official list is available on various websites published by the Myanmar government, including; Ministry of Hotels and Tourism, “The 8 Major National Ethnic Races of Myanmar,” The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, https://web.archive.org/web/20100818233051/http://www.myanmar.gov.mm:80/ministry/hotel/fact/r ace.htm; Brussels Embassy of the Union of Myanmar, “Composition of the Different Ethnic Groups under the 8 Major National Ethnic Races in Myanmar,” The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, http://www.embassyofmyanmar.be/ABOUT/ethnicgroups.htm. 159 Schonthal and Walton have warned of the shortcomings of using in precise terms such as “Buddhist nationalism” to refer to broader phenomenon or movements across various locations and different periods of time. In this thesis, the term Buddhist nationalism is used to refer to its particular forms as promoted by Myanmar nationalists during the years of democratic transition. Benjamin Schonthal and Matthew J. Walton, “The (New) Buddhist Nationalisms? Symmetries and Specificities in Sri Lanka and Myanmar,” Contemporary Buddhism 17, no. 1 (2016): 83. 41 consolidate their voter base. The promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism involved the failure of elites to effectively take action against those inciting or perpetrating the violence, thus legitimating violence.

The third factor is the willingness of non-elites to become involved in violence. This is perhaps a very obvious factor, but it is also one of the most difficult aspects of communal violence to explain. Why do non-elites perpetrate violence when the risks and very high and the benefits appear very low? This thesis suggests that non-elites perpetrated violence as a response to anxieties of harm to physical wellbeing, a loss of life, or a threat to identity. Viewed in this way, the risks of not engaging in violence emerge as very high. Fears of a loss of identity are deeply felt and violence is perceived to be justifiable in its defence. These fears were historical, and were legitimatised by political and religious leaders who contributed to the construction of threat. These three related factors were sufficient for the production of communal violence during this period of democratic transition in Myanmar.

The historical institutionalist argument in this thesis does not support the contention that the violence was provoked by “hidden hands”. Some elements of this explanation – which broadly argues that hardliners within the government or military provoked the violence – have found their way into various parts of the literature. The evidence in support of this explanation is limited and has particularly failed to show which elites may be responsible for such provocation, and indeed why this would be in their interest. Furthermore, provocation would only have been successful if the conditions for violence were already in place. These explanations cannot explain why so many people joined the violence and why these tensions have continued and have been endemic across the country throughout this period of transition. Elites did of course play important roles. The roles of elites in manipulating identity and creating the conditions for violence are outlined in this thesis. These repertoires were, for the most part, played out in public, not behind the scenes. While evidence does suggest that “outsiders” were organised to commit violence in some instances, this thesis argues that this was not a necessary condition. Nor is there sufficient evidence to suggest that this was widespread, although new evidence may come to light in the future. This was not violence manipulated behind

42 the scenes by agents of evil, but rather a familiar story of exclusion, violence and nation- building.

The following chapter, Chapter 2, will provide an analytical framework for the thesis based on a contentious politics approach, and further explores ideas and definitions of democratic transition, of communal identity, and of communal violence. Chapter 3 outlines the political opening in Myanmar, presenting governmental reforms since 2010 as changes in the political opportunity structures that actors react to. In Chapter 4 we begin to look at the processes of contentious politics which constitute the episode under investigation. That chapter will consider the process of identity formation. This process was established long before 2010 and the contentious politics approach reflects the interactive nature of the construction of identity. The chapter traces the development of national and communal identities in Myanmar, and explains why it was Muslims and the Rohingya in particular who were excluded from the dominant conception of the nation. In Chapter 5 the changing conceptions of national and communal identities during democratic transition are studied. The relevant processes are boundary activation and polarisation. The heightened salience of communal identity and the widening polarisation between communities during this period of democratic transition are documented. The chapter shows how democratic transition opened questions of the nature of the national community. Questions of who was to be included, and who was not, were opened. Elites’ appeals to exclusionary forms of nationalism and the ongoing construction of a Muslim threat is considered in Chapter 6, which documents the rise of Buddhist nationalist organisations and their relations to the state and other actors. These processes of actor constitution and brokerage show how those who incited and perpetrated violence avoided sanction by the state. Chapter 7 introduces a new process to the contentious politics literature: interpretation. Different interpretations of the same events at different levels of analysis are addressed, and it is argued that the interpretations of the violence in Myanmar displaced blame and served to maintain the conditions and mechanisms crucial to the replication of violence. The role of insecurity is considered in Chapter 8 as an environmental mechanism which spurs attribution of opportunity and threat and compels individuals to perpetrate violence. The perpetration of violence by non-elites should be understood through this frame – as a

43 response to anxieties of a loss of life or identity. The three factors which constitute the historical institutionalist explanation made in this thesis – the exclusive definition of the political community, elites’ appeal to exclusionary nationalisms and the willingness of non-elites to perpetrate violence – will be traced throughout these processes.

1.5 Language and Terminology The name of the country, and of various towns and states, were officially changed by the military government in 1989. This thesis uses terms such as “Burma”, “Rangoon” and “Arakan” when discussing the pre-change period, and refers to “Myanmar”, “Yangon” and “Rakhine” for the post-change period. The Myanmar language has continued to resist an effective and recognised system of Romanisation. For Myanmar words commonly used in English language texts such as Tatmadaw (the Myanmar armed forces) or Hluttaw (parliament) I have used the spelling that the reader may be familiar with. Outside of this I have used the BGN/PCGN 1970 Romanisation System for Burmese. Myanmar honorifics such as Daw (Aunt) and U (Uncle), as well as Ashin (the venerable) before the name of monks, are also used in this thesis. The terms are replicated as in their original use for direct quotations.

Chapter 2: Analytical Framework An analytical framework is a systematic, detailed sketch to elaborate ideas though a deductive process.1 It provides the researcher and reader with a lens to think about and view the problem under consideration. This analytical framework takes a closer look at the relevant definitions and approaches to understanding both democratic transition and communal violence surveyed in the introductory chapter. The relevant processes of contentious politics are then connected to the literature of democratic transition and communal violence.

After considering definitions of identity, the “communal” aspect of communal violence is considered and differentiated from other kinds of violence. The three dominant approaches to understanding identity are summarised – primordialism, instrumentalism and constructivism. The different assumptions that these approaches make about the relationship between violence and identity are then considered. While noting that although understanding identity is crucial to an understanding of communal violence, there is no suggestion that there is a direct link between the two. Literature on ethnic and national identity is also considered throughout this section.

Because the literature on democratic transition is contingent upon an understanding of democracy, it is essential to have a complete understanding of the varying definitions of democracy. There is little consensus on how best to categorise definitions of democracy, however. This thesis follows existing practice, with some re-evaluation of definitions. An attempt is also made to clarify some incoherence in the literature. This thesis differentiates between substantive and procedural definitions of democracy; those based on outcomes and processes respectively. Procedural definitions are categorised into minimalist, electoral, polyarchy and liberal definitions of democracy – each held to a higher standard than the last.

1 Charles C. Ragin, Constructing Social Research: The Unity and Diversity of Method (Thousand Oaks: Pine Forge Press, 1994), 183. 45

Finally, this chapter will consider the contentious politics framework used in this thesis in greater detail. As a social movements theory, contentious politics takes political opportunity structures seriously. Changing political opportunity structures in the form of political reforms in Myanmar are considered. The units of analysis are described: episodes are made up of processes which in turn are constituted by mechanisms. In the episode of communal violence during democratic transition considered in this thesis, there are five major processes identified: identity formation, boundary activation, polarisation, actor constitution and interpretation. This analytical framework also suggests a place for insecurity in the contentious politics literature – as an environmental mechanism which can spur how actors attribute opportunity and threat.

2.1 Communal Identity As noted in the introductory chapter, the terms “communal”, “ethnic” and “identity” groups and conflict are used interchangeably in the literature, often to refer to the same concept.2 This study uses a broad definition of communal identity, outlined by Smith’s definition of an ethnic group or ethnie as having six dimensions: a collective name, a common myth of descent, a shared history, a distinctive shared culture, an association with a specific territory, and a sense of solidarity.3 The distinctive consciousness held by a group of people around their common identity, and the identification as such by other groups, is an important element of this definition. It allows us to think of communal identities as inclusive of ethnic and/or religious identity. Gurr also highlights this element of the definition, observing that the key to identifying communal groups is not a particular trait or set of traits, but the shared perception that these traits set the group apart.4

Generally understood, “ethnic” refers to a narrower definition of identities based primarily on “race” or language. “Communal”, in contrast, refers to a broader set of ascriptive characteristics, real or perceived, which may include ethnic, religious,

2 Ted Robert Gurr, Minorities at Risk: A Global View of Ethnopolitical Conflicts (Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1993), 3; Tajima, The Institutional Origins of Communal Violence, 5; TR Gurr and B Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics (Colarado, United States: Westview Press, 2004), 3. 3 Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations, 22-31. 4 Gurr, Minorities at Risk: A Global View of Ethnopolitical Conflicts, 3. 46 locational or linguistic identities.5 As noted earlier, the Myanmar term lumyo is used to refer to both ethnic and religious identities, and thus reflects the broader meaning of “communal”. As a rule, identities based on economic characteristics are not included in communal identities.

The most widely used definition of nationalism is that provided by Gellner; “primarily a principle which holds that the political and national unit should be congruent”.6 Snyder expands this to a definition of ethno-nationalism – “the doctrine that a people who see themselves as distinct in their culture, history, institutions, or principles should rule themselves in a political system that expresses and protects those distinctive characteristics”.7

2.2 “Communal” Conflict, “Communal” Violence Conflict is commonly defined as a “situation in which two or more actors pursue incompatible, yet from their individual perspectives entirely just, goals”.8 Communal conflict is one manifestation of this, during which the goals of at least one party are defined exclusively in terms of their communal identity. According to Cordell and Wolff, in instances of communal conflict, at least one group party to the conflict will claim that its distinct identity is the reason why group or individual interests are not met, why rights are restricted, or claims not satisfied.9 In a diverse society, some communal conflict is “more of less inevitable”, states Varshney.10 However, he also reminds us that to assume that violence is an inevitable outcome of communal conflict or communal identity is an “inadmissible analytical leap”.11

5 Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life : Hindus and Muslims in India, 4-5. Varshney refers to the narrower and broader definitions under the same term – ethnic. 6 Cited in EJ Hobsbawm, Nations and Nationalism since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 9. 7 Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 23. 8 See, for example, Cordell and Wolff, Ethnic Conflict, 4-5. 9 Ibid., 5. 10 Varshney, Ethnic Conflict and Civic Life : Hindus and Muslims in India, 24. 11 Ibid., 26. 47

This thesis is concerned with instances in which communal conflict takes a violent form – communal violence. In particular, the form of communal violence that this thesis is concerned with has sometimes been called “riots” – “violence perpetrated by a group on another group”.12 Aside from “riots”, communal violence can also occur in the form of pogroms (violence against a community with the backing of the state), lynching (violence against an individual by a group), ethnic cleansing or genocide. As noted by Cheesman, to name any violence “communal” does not mean that all groups party to the violence suffer to the same extend or carry equal responsibility.13 Furthermore, calling the violence “communal” does not remove the state from the analysis, as will be shown throughout this thesis. Communal violence is characterised by at least one group party to the violence framing its grievances in communal terms. As Cheesman notes, following instances of communal violence at least one party claiming a stake in the violence will make claims upon the state based in communal terms, usually to the effect of protecting or privileging one community over another.14 This thesis is not concerned with organised violence in resistance of the state, although such insurgency or rebellion may be mobilised along communal lines. As such, the violence in northern Rakhine State from 2016 in which the Tatmadaw escalated violence against Rohingya communities and an armed group claiming to represent Rohingya communities emerged is outside the scope of this thesis.

The following section summarises the three dominant approaches to thinking about communal identity – primordialism, instrumentalism and constructivism – and their explanations of communal violence. An understanding of these approaches is an essential basis for investigating the particular factors behind communal violence during democratic transitions. Furthermore, different understandings of identity have different policy implications. In the development of democratic institutions, for example, if one follows the primordialist approach a consociational model seems logical as it assumes that identities are unchangeable.15 On the other hand, if one supports a constructivist

12 Varshney, Tadjoeddin, and Pangabean, “Patterns of Collective Violence in Indonesia,” 21. 13 Cheesman, “Introduction: Interpreting Communal Violence in Myanmar,” 399; Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 10. 14 Cheesman, “Introduction: Interpreting Communal Violence in Myanmar,” 339. 15 James D Fearon and David D Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity,” International Organization 54, no. 4 (2000): 849. 48 approach a consociational model will only entrench identities and intensify polarisation.16

2.2.1 Primordialist Approaches The primordialist approach to identity is based on the premise that identity groups, and in particular ethnic groups, are ancient and natural. These affiliations are understood as historical and unchangeable. “Primordial” has been defined by Smith as “preceding state organization”.17 Primordialism as an approach has resisted an agreed definition, however.18 Brown has explained the primordialist perspective as such: “humanity has indeed evolved into distinct, organic communities, each with their own language and culture, with each individual’s sense of identity derived from their location within one such community”.19 Primordialist approaches essentialise attributes of individuals and communities. It may be claimed that identity and nationalism refer to an ineffable and unaccountable bond,20 which is emotional, spiritual and “cannot be explained rationally”.21 As an extension of being a “natural” group, claims are made to natural rights and sovereignty, either as an independent nation or as an autonomous region of an existing nation.22

Almost all communal groups claim a primordial myth, whether it is concerned with ethnicity, religion, language or location. Of course, common ancestry between members of a “natural” group cannot be proved. For this reason, Connor has said that a nation is “a group of people who feel that they are ancestrally related”.23 Van den Berghe attempts to explain the prevalence of primordialism by observing that humans are

16 Bertrand and Haklai, “Democratization and Ethnic Minorities,” 48. 17 Smith 1996, 1998 cited in Daniele Conversi, “Resisting Primordialism and Other -Isms: In Lieu of Conclusions,” in Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World: Walker Connor and the Study of Nationalism, ed. Daniele Conversi (London, New York: Routledge, 2002), 269. 18 Ibid. 19 David Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics (London: Routledge, 2000), 6. 20 See ibid., 8. 21 Connor, Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding, 204. 22 Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics, 6. 23 Connor, Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding, 202. 49 programmed to preference those “in proportion to their real or perceived degree of common ancestry”, in other words; those who are similar in a physical, linguistic or cultural sense.24

The primordialist explanation of identity provides a perspective of how violence develops. According to Gurr and Harff, the primordialist approach argues that “modernization is a threat to ethnic solidarities that prompts minorities to mobilize in defence of their culture and way of life”.25 Some argue that the approach goes so far as to claim that “the presence of ethnic divisions in a nation is a sufficient condition for the occurrence of ethnic violence”.26 According to a primordialist perspective, the solution is to grant maximum autonomy to each community.27

While this approach is generally rejected by social scientists today, it was common in the 1960s and 1970s. Aspects of the approach have been carried into the present by some authors. The primordialist approach is evident though such claims as “two or more incipient societies in a single state is an uncomfortable situation, and it often produces impulses to make the society homogeneous, by assimilation, expulsion, or even extermination”.28 Horowitz’s assumption is that the existence of diversity in a state is enough to raise the risk of violence. While he starts with this primordialist assumption, his analysis regarding the psychological roots of communal identity and conflict is more nuanced, and it is the salience of communalism that interests him. He argues that it is anxiety over domination by rival groups that characterises relations and inspires violence.29 The struggle for group worth and legitimacy is suggested by Horowitz as an explanation for why non-elites become involved in violence – a longstanding puzzle for theorists.30

There are serious criticisms that can be made of the primordialist approach. If the assertions made by primordialists were correct, we would expect violence in all nation-

24 PL Van den Berghe, “Does Race Matter?,” Nations and Nationalism 1, no. 3 (1995): 360. 25 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 96. 26 Mousseau, “Democratizing with Ethnic Divisions: A Source of Conflict?,” 549. 27 Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics, 11. 28 Donald L. Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000 (1985)), 180. 29 Ibid., 179. 30 Ibid., 226. 50 states that host diverse societies. Studies on the relationship between diversity and violence, however, report either insignificant results or a negative relationship.31 The primordialist approach fails to explain why communal violence occurs in some states and not others.

2.2.2 Instrumentalist Approaches Unlike the primordialist approach, the instrumentalist approach sees communal identity not as an especially ancient or particularly salient identity, but one of many identities which may be invoked to meet individual or group needs. This is a rational choice theory. Communal identity is invoked mainly as a means to material, social and political gains.32 From this perspective, communal identities gain social significance “mainly when ethnic symbols are invoked and manipulated by political entrepreneurs in response to threats or opportunities”.33 One assumption of the instrumentalist approach is that communal identities represent variables. Cleavages can exist within groups, and the boundaries and contents of identity can change, as they are not “fixed ideas of wholly primordial identities”.34

From this perspective, “political entrepreneurs” will capitalize on differences to create political movements, based on identity, to increase the economic and political benefits for their group.35 Minority groups may identify and mobilize along communal lines as a reaction to perceived or actual differential treatment from the dominant ethnic group.36 The instrumentalist approach often explains communal violence as elite manipulation of identities, and argues that it is rarely driven by mass irrationality.37

31 Mousseau, “Democratizing with Ethnic Divisions: A Source of Conflict?,” 549, 59. 32 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 96; Mousseau, “Democratizing with Ethnic Divisions: A Source of Conflict?,” 549. 33 Gurr, Peoples Versus States: Minorities at Risk in the New Century, 4. 34 Harvey Glickman and Peter Furia, “Issues in the Analysis of Ethnic Conflict and Democratization Processes in Africa Today,” in Ethnic Conflict and Democratization in Africa, ed. Harvey Glickman (Atlanta, Georgia: The African Studies Association Press, 2005), 8. 35 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 96. 36 Gurr, Minorities at Risk: A Global View of Ethnopolitical Conflicts, 124. 37 Bertrand and Haklai, “Democratization and Ethnic Minorities,” 52; Glickman and Furia, “Issues in the Analysis of Ethnic Conflict and Democratization Processes in Africa Today,” 8. 51

The shortcoming of the instrumentalist approach to communal violence is that it fails to explain why non-elites become involved in violence. The costs and risks of engaging in communal violence are high, while the rewards for individuals are low. Violence often appears irrational as individuals risk injury, incarceration and even loss of life. Fearon and Laitin ask how a rational-choice approach can explain emotionally powerful identities which sometimes drive acts of irrational hatred, bigotry and destruction.38 Brass suggests that individuals involved in violence are in fact pursuing their own diverse agendas that have little to do with communal identity.39 This may be true for some individuals. Other work, however, has stressed the power of deeply felt identity and division between communal groups, and shown how this justified violence.40 Instrumentalist explanations beg the question as to why individuals perpetrate violence. If identities are simply deployed for rational economic, political or other gain, why are large numbers of people willing to put their life on the line for them?

2.2.3 Constructivist Approaches While primordialism and instrumentalism view identity as an instinct and an interest respectively, for constructivism it is an ideology.41 Constructivist approaches emphasise the ways in which identities “emerge and change over time”.42 Brown is a strong proponent of this non-rational choice approach. He argues that “national identity is constructed on the basis of institutional or ideological frameworks which offer simple and indeed simplistic formulas of identity, and diagnoses of contemporary problems, to otherwise confused or insecure individuals”.43 Constructivist approaches deny that communal groups are “real substantive entities” and assert that the perception that they are real should be treated as a form of “ideological consciousness which filters reality, rather than reflects it”.44

38 Fearon and Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity,” 385. 39 Brass 1997, cited in ibid., 855. 40 Duncan, Violence and Vengeance: Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia. 41 Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics, 5. 42 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 97. 43 Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics, 20. 44 Ibid. 52

A core concept of constructivism is that ideas and practices are co-constitutive. Understood as ideological frameworks generated through experience and learning, communal identities shape individuals’ relationship with state institutions and other identity groups. The reverse is also true, as institutions also shape identities, states Brown: the institutional arrangements which an individual inhabits may become the defining categories of political understanding concerning their identity, interests and goals. Thus when the state organises parliamentary representation, regional structures, interest associations or identity documents specifically on a racial, ethnic, or nationality basis, such institutionalisms come to define the ideological parameters for those who function within them.45

According to Brubaker, these institutional arrangements provide

a pervasive system of social classification, an organizing ‘principle of vision and division’ of the social world, a standardized scheme of social accounting, an interpretative grid for public discussion, a set of boundary- markers, a legitimate form for public and private identities, and… a ready-made template for claims to sovereignty. Institutional definitions of nationhood… constitute basic categories of political understanding, central parameters of political rhetoric, specific types of political interest, and fundamental forms of political identity.46

According to some constructivist accounts, communal identities, particularly those based on ethnicity and nationalism, are constructed as a reaction to the insecurities and anxieties of rapid social change such as those related to colonisation, modernisation and industrialisation.47 Nationalism and other communal identities are powerful because they serve an emotional function.

45 Ibid., 21. 46 Rogers Brubaker, Nationalism Reframed: Nationhood and the National Question in New Europe (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 24. 47 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 96; Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics, 77. 53

A constructivist approach is consistent with the definition of communal groups used in this thesis. Everyday primordialism refers to the notion that “people often believe, mistakenly, that certain social categories are natural, inevitable, and unchanging facts about the social world”.48 A similar understanding of primordialism can be read into Connor’s definition of a nation as “a group of people who feel that they are ancestrally related”.49 Similarly, Anderson has thought of nations as “imagined communities”.50 As Duncan notes, the argument “that religious identities are constructed does not make those identities any less real for those who lay claim to them”.51 Identities may be constructed, but they are also real.

There has been little written on the constructivist explanation of communal violence. Much of the literature refers to explanations that reflect instrumentalism, focusing on elite appeals to group identity in order to retain power.52 As such, these explanations fail to explain why non-elites follow elites into violence. Fearon and Laitin summarise three constructivist explanations of identity formation and violence which explain why non-elites perpetrate violence; broad structural forces; discursive formations; or individual driven.53 The first explanation reflects the assertion that identities are constructed during times of rapid social change, reflecting the argument presented by Brown. Thinkers such as Gellner and Anderson argued that modernisation has politicised facets of culture that were previously irrelevant,54 making communal identities very important to individuals. It is not clear how this is transformed into violence, however. The second explains the social construction of group identities as necessarily involving “differentiating one’s self or one’s group from an Other”, providing the potential for a “violent, antagonistic relationship”.55 The weakness in this “constructivist” explanation, however, is that it reflects the primordialist view that communal difference is a sufficient

48 Fearon and Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity,” 848. 49 Connor, Ethnonationalism: The Quest for Understanding, 202. 50 Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London and New York: Verso, 1991 (1983)). 51 Duncan, Violence and Vengeance: Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia, 6. 52 See Fearon and Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity,” 853. 53 Ibid., 850. 54 Ibid., 851. 55 Ibid. 54 explanation of communal violence. Later in their article, Fearon and Laitin concede that the evidence supporting this thesis “is at best ambiguous”.56

The third explanation is based on elites using the problem of asymmetric information to manipulate followers’ beliefs, and raise threat perception levels. Based on the assumption that people have an innate desire for self-esteem, they may be “irrationally reluctant to believe that members of their own group, and especially their leadership, could be possible for reprehensible acts”.57 Elites are assumed to have better information about relations with another group. Publics give leaders the benefit of the doubt while leaders may abuse this trust, a manifestation of the classic agency problem.58 Similarly, attaining self-esteem through conflict with another group has been raised as an explanation for non-elite behaviour by Horowitz.59 This explanation contributes to filling an important deficit in the literature – an explanation of why non- elites become involved in violence.

Another constructivist explanation of non-elite participation in communal violence is Sewell’s, who argues that an inherent part of cultural practice is organising difference between groups. When a sub-group moves to differentiate itself from the main group, or to move closer into this group, opposition to segregation or inclusion emerges, and can take on a violent expression. He argues that conflicts over inclusion in one group may result in external adventures in the form of violence with another group in order to assert true allegiance to the first group.60 Brown argues that the contradiction of why non-elites engage in violence is more “apparent than real”, and that “it would be difficult to argue, for example, that it is irrational for us to become afraid in the face of attack, or to become emotionally involved in the defence or pursuit of those interests which we consider to be most central to our life goals”.61 When identity is understood as an ideology, rather than as a rational choice, violence in its defence is more easily understood.

56 Ibid., 857. 57 Ibid., 854. 58 Ibid., 855. 59 Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict, 179. 60 Sewell 1999, cited in Fearon and Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity,” 856. 61 Brown, Contemporary Nationalism: Civic, Ethnocultural and Multicultural Politics, 15. 55

There is some overlap between these three approaches to communal identity. In particular, both instrumentalism and constructivism emphasise the flexible nature of identity. The main difference between the approaches is that instrumentalism views identity as a rational choice, while for constructivism it is an unconscious construct. While the primordial approach is taken less seriously by most scholars, the constructivist explanation of violence is limited. While constructivist scholars view identity as temporary and subject to change, they also acknowledge that it is not treated as such by communities. Without doubt, the constructivist approach dominates contemporary social science thought on identity and violence. Perhaps the greatest strength of a constructivist approach is its ability to explain variation in communal violence across time and space, as a result of local constructions of identity. If identity is constructed in part by interaction with the state, how does identity respond to changes in political institutions as democratic reforms take place? After establishing how this thesis considers democratic transition, these questions will be approached in the contentious politics framework.

2.3 Democracy and Democratic Transition Over a decade ago leading democracy theorist Guillermo A. O’Donnell noted that the existing literature theorising and defining democracy was not yet a “sufficiently clear and consistent corpus”.62 In 1956, Gallie termed democracy an “essentially contested concept”, reflecting its “multi-dimensional, internally complex, extremely vague, qualitative, and value-laden” nature.63 The contested nature of democracy remains at the root of why the literature remains unclear and inconsistent today.64 There remains little consensus over definitions and standards. Indeed, the more than 550 different

62 Guillermo A. O'Donnell, “Democracy, Law and Comparative Politics,” Studies in Comparative International Development 36, no. 1 (2001): 7. 63 Walter B. Gallie, “Essentially Contested Concepts,” Proceedings of the Aritotalian Society 56 (1956): 184. 64 Laurence Whitehead, Democratization: Theory and Experience (Oxford & New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 7. 56 definitions of democracy surveyed by Collier and Levitsky in 1996 continue to be expanded upon and debated.65

It has become standard practice to differentiate between two fundamentally different forms that definitions of democracy take; substantive and procedural. Substantive definitions emphasise the substance and outcomes of democracy such as the equality of resource distribution or opportunity of participation. In contrast, procedural definitions are concerned with democratic mechanisms. To put the distinction simply, substantive definitions are concerned with “what” democracy is, while procedural definitions are interested in “how” democracy works.66

2.3.1 Substantive Definitions Substantive definitions are concerned with what democracy is, and judge a political system by its outcomes. Substantive definitions may define democracies by the extent to which “power is to be distributed in society in such a manner that everyone can participate on an equal footing, meaning the democracy is to some extent defined by its results”.67 Contending that a democracy does not have to consist of a single unique set of institutions, Schmitter and Karl outline the following substantive definition of democracy; “Modern political democracy is a system of governance in which rulers are held accountable for their actions in the public realm by citizens, acting indirectly through the competition and cooperation of their elected representatives”.68 Another example of a substantive definition is that given by Benhabib, who states that a democracy is

a model for organizing the collective and public exercise of power in the major institutions of society on the basis of the principle that decisions affecting the well-being of a collectivity can be viewed as the outcome of a procedure of

65 Cited in Jørgen Møller and Svend-Erik Skaaning, Democracy and Democratization in Comparative Perspective: Conceptions, Conjunctures, Causes, and Consequences (London and New York: Routledge, 2012), 9. 66 Ibid., 41. 67 Ibid. 68 Philippe C. Schmitter and Terry Lynn Karl, “What Democracy Is... And Is Not,” Journal of Democracy 2, no. 3 (1991): 76. 57

free and reasoned deliberation among individuals considered as moral and political equals.69

These definitions are “maximalist or prescriptive”; they tell us what outcomes a democracy should produce.70 O’Donnell critiques Benhabib’s definition, arguing that “we are not told in what sense, to what extent, and by whom democracies “can be viewed” as satisfying the requirement stipulated in the definition”.71 Substantive definitions are contrasted to their procedural counterpart, which are termed “realistic” by O’Donnell.72 The benefit of substantive definitions of democracy is that they recognise each democratic system may reflect its own political community. The weakness, however, is that it is not clear just what such systems may have in common. The literature on substantive democracy remains limited; which presents difficulties for a study analysing movement towards a more democratic regime.

2.3.2 Procedural Definitions Procedural definitions of democracy delineate the processes or institutions a political system must have to be labelled a democracy. These definitions are concerned with how the system works. There is a high degree of debate over exactly what is involved in a democracy and different definitions provide different procedural standards. Here, definitions of minimalist democracy, electoral democracy, polyarchy and liberal democracy are outlined. Møller and Skaaning’s categories are used,73 although a closer reading of the literature has led to a reclassification of some definitions.

Diamond defined democracy as “free and fair multiparty elections by secret and universal ballot”.74 While Diamond calls such a system electoral democracy, this thesis saves that term for another procedural definition. Here, such a definition is called a

69 Seyla Benhabib, “Toward a Deliberative Model of Democratic Legitimacy,” in Democracy and Difference : Contesting the Boundaries of the Political, ed. Seyla Benhabib (Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press, 1996), 68. 70 O'Donnell, “Democracy, Law and Comparative Politics,” 12. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid., 13. 73 Møller and Skaaning, Democracy and Democratization in Comparative Perspective: Conceptions, Conjunctures, Causes, and Consequences, 43. 74 Diamond, Developing Democracy: Towards Consolidation, 5. 58 minimalist definition, and it outlines a minimalist democracy. This definition contains no freedom or right protections, and is limited only to elections.75 There are no political freedoms guaranteed to ensure the competitiveness of elections. Given the contemporary almost universal recognition of democracy as perhaps the only legitimate system of governance, more and more regimes are eager to claim the title, despite a lack of democratic characteristics. Holding elections that are free and fair on an election day can mask the absence of political freedoms which make the process truly competitive and meaningful. The danger of this definition is explained by Karl, who defines “electoralism” as “the faith that merely holding elections will channel political action into peaceful contests among elites and accord public legitimacy to the winners”.76 Referring to this phenomenon, Fareed Zakaria has noted “the rise of illiberal democracy”, the dangerous phenomenon of “freely elected governments that fail to safeguard basic liberties”.77

Perhaps the first procedural definition of democracy to be published was an electoral definition. In 1942, Schumpeter wrote that “the democratic method is that institutional arrangement for arriving at political decisions in which individuals acquire the power to decide by means of a competitive struggle for the people’s vote”.78 From this oft-quoted yet context-deprived definition, the demands placed upon a system to qualify as democratic appear to be very low; there must simply be elections. At first glance this is a minimalist definition. O’Donnell encourages a closer reading of Schumpeter, however, and notes that further conditions are mentioned, although these are frequently overlooked.79 Importantly, Schumpeter notes that there must be “free competition for a free vote”, and that this will likely mean “a considerable amount of freedom of discussion for all”, including “a considerable amount of freedom of the press”.80 Hence, Møller & Skaaning’s claim that Schumpeter “categorically rejects civil liberties” is

75 Marc F. Plattner, “Liberalism and Democracy: Can't Have One without the Other,” Foreign Affairs, March/April (1998). 76 Karl 1986, cited in Schmitter and Karl, “What Democracy Is... And Is Not,” 78. 77 Zakaria, cited in Plattner, “Liberalism and Democracy: Can't Have One without the Other.” 78 Joseph A. Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (London: Unwin University Books, 1974 [1942]), 269. 79 O'Donnell, “Democracy, Law and Comparative Politics,” 9. 80 Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy, 271-72., italics in original. 59 fundamentally incorrect.81 This is a definition of electoral democracy. Huntington uses a similar definition, stating that a system is democratic to the “extent that its most powerful collective decision makers are selected through fair, honest, and periodic elections in which candidates freely compete for votes and in which virtually all the adult population is eligible to vote”.82 Again, this sounds like a minimalist definition, until one reads further.83 Huntington adds that this “also implies the existence of those civil and political freedoms to speak, publish, assemble, and organize that are necessary to political debate and the conduct of electoral campaigns”.84

Although still a restricted definition compared to others, electoral democracy is not as basic as it is sometimes represented to be. There are two elements to this definition. First, elections must be free and fair. This means that elections are held regularly, and all able adult citizens of the political community can cast their vote and have the opportunity to run for political office without coercion. Second is a sufficient amount of political freedom. Without this condition elections would be meaningless, as voters could not access information vital to them at the voting booth. The most vital freedoms are those of association and speech, to ensure a free press and access to information, including alternative information. While this definition is more comprehensive than a minimalist definition, it lacks the demanding elements seen in subsequent definitions, such as Dahl’s “polyarchy”.85

Polyarchy is a more stringent definition, and Dahl has outlined seven conditions:

1) Control over government decisions about policy is constitutionally vested in elected officials. 2) Elected officials are chosen in frequent and fairly conducted elections in which coercion is comparatively uncommon.

81 Møller and Skaaning, Democracy and Democratization in Comparative Perspective: Conceptions, Conjunctures, Causes, and Consequences, 31. 82 Samuel P. Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century (Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), 7. 83 O'Donnell, “Democracy, Law and Comparative Politics,” 11. 84 Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, 7. Huntington has given a minimalist definition of democracy elsewhere, however. “How Countries Democratize,” Political Science Quarterly 106, no. 4 (1991-2). 85 Ronald A. Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971). 60

3) Practically all adults have the right to vote in the election of officials. 4) Practically all adults have the right to run for elective offices in the government . . . . 5) Citizens have a right to express themselves without the danger of severe punishment on political matters broadly defined . . . . 6) Citizens have a right to seek out alternative sources of information. Moreover, alternative sources of information exist and are protected by law. 7) . . . Citizens also have the right to form relatively independent associations or organizations, including independent political parties and interest groups.86

The conditions of polyarchy include those of electoral democracy – free and fair elections with provisions for sufficient political freedoms. Dahl contributes one further condition; that elected representatives control policy. It is implied that there can be no unelected bodies with control over governmental power and policy. In most cases this is relevant to the armed forces. Schmitter and Karl, however, find that Dahl’s condition is too ambiguous, and advocate extending it as such; “Popularly elected officials must be able to exercise their constitutional powers without being subjected to overriding (albeit informal) opposition from unelected officials”.87 While Schmitter and Karl’s extended condition usefully brings attention to this vital quality, this meaning can be read into Dahl’s original text. In short, as well as the conditions stipulated in electoral definitions, polyarchy demands that there is no unelected influence on government power.

Liberal democracy is the most demanding procedural definition of democracy. Diamond provides a comprehensive definition.

In addition to regular, free, and fair electoral competition and universal suffrage, it requires first the absence of reserved domains of power for the military or other social and political forces that are not either directly or indirectly accountable to the electorate. Second, in addition to the vertical accountability

86 Dahl 1982, cited in Schmitter and Karl, “What Democracy Is... And Is Not,” 81. 87 Ibid. 61

of rulers to the ruled, it requires horizontal accountability of officeholders to one another; this constrains executive power and so helps protect constitutionalism, the rule of law, and the deliberative process. Third, it encompasses extensive provisions for political and civic pluralism, as well as for individual and group freedoms, so that contending interests and values may be expressed and compete through ongoing processes of articulation and representation, beyond periodic elections.88

This definition contains the two elements noted above in definitions of electoral democracy: free and fair elections, and sufficient political freedoms, although Diamond extends this latter condition to substantial individual and group freedoms. As in polyarchy, liberal democracy prohibits any political power for unelected forces. This definition differs from those previous, however, in that it also requires checks and balances between the pillars of government, to ensure the rule of law. Møller and Skaaning also note that the essential difference between polyarchy and liberal democracy is the rule of law, defined by them as “the regular and impartial administration of public rules”.89 Liberal democracy builds on polyarchy by extending freedoms and ensuring the rule of law.

Four procedural definitions of democracy have been summarised here: minimalist, electoral, polyarchy and liberal democracy. The elements of the four definitions are outlined in Table 2.1, which is a modified version of Møller & Skaaning’s “typology of democratic political regimes”.90

88 Diamond, Developing Democracy: Towards Consolidation, 10-11. 89 Møller and Skaaning, Democracy and Democratization in Comparative Perspective: Conceptions, Conjunctures, Causes, and Consequences, 44. 90 Ibid., 43. 62

Free and Type of Democracy Rule of Parliamentary Political Fair by Criteria Law Sovereignty Freedoms Elections

Minimalist Democracy ü

Electoral Democracy ü ü

Polyarchy ü ü ü

Liberal Democracy ü ü ü ü

Table 2.1 Procedural Definitions of Democracy

Due to the difficulty of sustaining democracy in divided societies, it has been argued by Horowitz that “purely procedural conceptions of democracy” are inadequate, because “the procedure can be impeccable and the exclusion complete”.91 A majoritarian form of democracy for example, with single-member districts and a plurality voting system could mean that minority communal groups are perpetually excluded from decision making. If Horowitz based his argument in a minimalist or electoral definition of democracy, which gives little guarantees of political freedoms, this would lead him to such a conclusion. Polyarchy or liberal democracy, however, give more guarantees to the protection of minority groups, and an argument could be made that a system with minority communal groups forever in opposition would still be a liberal democracy – if their concerns were managed in some other way such as a federal system or special representation in parliament. The value in Horowitz’s critique is the illumination of the fact that minority exclusion does pose a problem for democracies, including liberal democracies. This suggests that procedural definitions of democracy are insufficient, and that the measurement of outcome is important.

91 Donald L. Horowitz, “Democracy in Divided Societies,” Journal of Democracy 4, no. 4 (1993): 31. 63

Whitehead argues that procedural definitions are both too precise and too incomplete.92 “The stress is overwhelmingly on procedures of public decision-making and accountability, to the disregard of outcomes and the near exclusion of broader social values”, he suggests.93 This is made obvious by the outcomes of procedural democracy in divided societies. A definition that only stressed the outcome of the political system, however, would be just as lacking. O’Donnell and Schmitter note that certain procedural minimums are “necessary elements” of democracy.94 Whitehead also finds fault with substantive definitions.95 He argues that judging political systems by “standardized outcomes regardless of context or resources is in fact both historically and culturally insensitive”.96 A complete definition of democracy may involve both substantive and procedural elements. Schmitter and Karl find that procedural conditions are “necessary but not sufficient” for democracy to function, as democracy relies upon accepted principles to function.97 Following a similar trajectory, Whitehead proposes that democracy should not be understood as a pre-determined end-state, but as “a long- term and somewhat open-ended outcome, not just as a feasible equilibrium but as a socially desirable and imaginary future”.98 The process should be based not on the “passing opinions of an arbitrary local majority”, but rather on “reflective opinion” from domestic, regional and global influences.99 In this sense, democracy can be understood as both a process and an outcome. Furthermore, as the product of these diverse influences, democracy will differ across various contexts. A comprehensive and applicable definition of democracy which combines both substantive and procedural elements could have very positive applications, and is an area which deserves more research.

There remains little consensus on defining democracy, and different studies use different definitions. An electoral definition of democracy has commonly been used in

92 Whitehead, Democratization: Theory and Experience, 11. 93 Ibid., 12., italics in original. 94 O'Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies, 8. 95 Whitehead, Democratization: Theory and Experience, 13. 96 Ibid. 97 Schmitter and Karl, “What Democracy Is... And Is Not,” 81, 82. 98 Whitehead, Democratization: Theory and Experience, 3. 99 Ibid. 64 quantitative studies.100 For qualitative research a more demanding standard is suitable. Diamond’s definition of liberal democracy is the most comprehensive and is adopted in this study. Due to the lack of consensus, studies of democracy can talk past each other, discussing different concepts and making comparison difficult and conclusions tentative. A thorough understanding of definitions can mitigate these dangers. Furthermore, definitions of democracy are central to definitions of democratic transition, the next focus of this analytical framework.

2.4 Democratic Transition Before discussing definitions of democratic transition it has been essential to traverse the literature on what constitutes a democracy. This is illustrated by the definitions of democratic transition given in the literature. For instance, referring to his own definition of democracy, Huntington defines democratic transition as the “replacement of a government that was not chosen this way by one that is”.101 Reiter defines transition as “the movement from a system of authoritarian rule to one of institutionalized, democratic governance”.102 Each requires a definition of democracy. The most comprehensive definition of democratic transition is O’Donnell and Schmitter’s. They define democratic transition as the “processes whereby the rules and procedures of citizenship are either applied to political institutions previously governed by other principles”, “expanded to include persons not previously enjoying such rights and obligations”, “or extended to cover issues and institutions not previously subject to citizen participation”.103 O’Donnell and Schmitter note that democratic transition – “the interval between one political regime and another” – does not include democratic consolidation. The process of democratic transition and consolidation – “democratisation” – is arguably never complete.104 There is no guarantee that democracy will be the end result of any liberalisation or democratic transition process.

100 See, for example, Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, 7; SM Lipset, “Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy,” The American Political Science Review 53, no. 1 (1959): 71. 101 Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, 9. 102 Dan Reiter, “Does Peace Nurture Democracy?,” The Journal of Politics 63, no. 3 (2003): 936. 103 O'Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies, 8. 104 Ibid., 6. 65

From the definitions of democracy and democratic transitions above, this thesis defines democratic transition as the process of newly applying democratic rules and procedures to institutions. Using a liberal definition of democracy, democratic transition therefore is specifically understood as; the holding of competitive free and fair elections; broadening individual and group freedoms; the withdrawal of non-elected (often military) influence from governance; and the institutionalisation of the rule of law through a system of checks and balances. This definition is useful as it can be used to measure gradual change towards democracy. In contrast, a minimalist or electoral definition of democracy used in conjunction with this definition of democratic transition would simply represent snap elections with little guarantee of institutional change or expanded political freedoms.

Distinct from the early phase of democratic transition, liberalisation refers primarily to expanding liberties. It has been defined as steps taken in a democratic direction, without submitting leaders to the electoral test.105 Mainwaring contends that liberalisation is an extension of liberties within the authoritarian regime, while democratic transition concerns regime change.106 Similarly, O’Donnell and Schmitter define liberalisation as “the process of making effective certain rights that protect both individuals and social groups from arbitrary or illegal acts committed by the state or third parties”.107

2.5 Contentious Episodes, Processes and Mechanisms This section outlines the contentious politics framework used in this thesis. The units of analysis of contentious politics – episodes, processes and mechanisms – are explained. The processes which are most relevant to communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar are then examined in some depth. These are; identity formation, boundary activation, polarisation, actor constitution and interpretation. Changing

105 Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, 9. 106 Cited in Lise Storm, “An Elemental Definition of Democracy and Its Advantages for Comparing Political Regime Types,” Democratization 15, no. 2 (2008): 225. 107 O'Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies, 7. 66 political opportunity structures under democratic transition and the environmental mechanism of insecurity are also dealt with.

Contentious politics make a rough distinction between three levels of analysis; mechanisms, processes and episodes. Episodes “are continuous streams of contention including collective claims making that bear on other parties’ interests”.108 These are the largest units of analysis in contentious politics. McAdam, Tarrow and Tilly posit that;

big structures and sequences never repeat themselves, but result from differing combinations and sequences of mechanisms with very general scope. Even within a single episode, we will find multiform, changing, and self- constructing actors, identities, forms of action and interaction.109

Although episodes are bound to each other in interaction, they are isolated for the purpose of investigation.110 For our purposes, communal violence under democratic transition in Myanmar is considered one episode, spanning from 2012 to 2014. While this episode is part of a longer series of similar and dissimilar episodes, for the purpose of systematic research contentious politics focuses on one episode. However, this episode is not removed from context or treated as unique. There are four ways in which contentious politics literature treats episodes as “self-contained”. First, varying combinations of mechanisms and processes are detected in any episode.111 Second, it treats episodes not as given phenomena, but as “observers’ lenses”, the interpretation of which makes certain mechanisms and processes more visible than others.112 Third, “naming and labelling” any episode itself is recognised as a “political act”, which has consequences for identities, responses and mobilisation.113 Fourth, episodes are not treated as pre-determined sequences, but as dynamic contention “in which different streams of mobilization and demobilisation intersect, identities form and evolve, and new forms of action are invented, honed, and rejected as actors interact”.114

108 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 24. 109 Ibid., 30. 110 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 36. 111 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 29. 112 Ibid., 29-30. 113 Ibid., 30. 114 Ibid. 67

Episodes consist of multiple processes. Processes “are regular sequences of… mechanisms that produce similar (generally more complex and contingent) transformations of those elements”.115 Processes intersect with environmental constraints, other processes and mechanisms.116 Most simply, processes should be considered as a result of the function of a body of mechanisms. This thesis analyses the key processes relevant to communal violence under democratic transition in Myanmar. In order of analysis, these are identity formation, boundary activation, polarisation, actor constitution and interpretation. They should not be taken to follow a sequential process, however. Processes interact with each other and share mechanisms. Many of the processes encountered in the following chapters took place simultaneously, operating via the same mechanisms and altering the operations of each other.

Mechanisms are events which alter relations between the different parts of an episode, such as actions or identities. When interactions change existing relations, mechanisms are at work.117 Applying a contentious politics approach to collective violence, Tilly sought to identify “small-scale mechanisms that produce identical immediate effects in many different circumstances yet combine variously to generate very different outcomes on the large scale”.118 Different episodes share common mechanisms. There is a rough distinction between environmental, cognitive, and relational mechanisms.119 Environmental mechanisms are “externally generated influences on conditions affecting social life”.120 An example would be the effect that long-term demographic changes or a natural disaster have on participation in politics. In this thesis, insecurity is treated as an environmental mechanism which influences the behaviour of individuals and communities. Cognitive mechanisms “operate through alterations of individual and collective perception; words like recognize, understand, reinterpret, and classify characterize such mechanisms”.121 A classic example of a cognitive mechanism is commitment – individuals remain involved in contention due to the fact that

115 Ibid., 24. 116 Ibid., 51. 117 Ibid., 26. 118 Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence, 20. 119 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 25; Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence, 20- 21. 120 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 25. 121 Ibid., 26. 68 withdrawing would incur unacceptable cost.122 Finally, relational mechanisms “alter connections among people, groups and interpersonal networks”.123 “Brokerage” is a common relational mechanism, and involves the linking of two or more “social sites” and the mediation of their relations with one or more other sites.124

2.5.1 Changing Political Opportunity Structures As Tilly and Tarrow note, the “major constraints and incentives for contentious politics are political opportunity structures”.125 Political opportunity structure refers to both opportunities and threats. Tilly and Tarrow present political opportunity structure as “the framework within which people decide whether to mobilize, make decisions about optimal combinations of performances to use, and are likely to succeed or fail in their efforts”.126 This is crucial for understanding any episode of contention.

Different political regimes structure and respond to contentious politics differently; tolerating, encouraging and restricting different types and different quantities of contentious political action.127 For example, some regimes reward claims made on a communal basis while others do not. The two greatest determinants of political opportunity structure are governmental capacity and the extent of democracy, with governmental capacity defined as “the extent to which governmental action affects the character and distribution of population, activity, and resources within the government’s territory”.128 Changes in these features will produce changes in the character of contention. Changes in political opportunity structure can coincide with changes in regime type or political reform within an existing regime.129 Inevitably, political opportunity structures shape the character of contentious politics.

122 Ibid. 123 Ibid. 124 Ibid. 125 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 22. 126 Ibid., 49-50. 127 Ibid., 45. 128 Ibid., 55. 129 Ibid., 49. 69

Tilly and Tarrow note that most political actors “see themselves responding to threats they perceive to their interests, their values, or their identities”, rather than as responding to opportunities.130 They note, however, that “threats and opportunities co- occur, and most people engaging in contentious politics combine response to threat with seizing opportunities”.131 The types of claims which are available to actors differ depending on the regime under which they operate. While regimes cannot control all institutions, they do shape institutions.132 Tilly and Tarrow document how high-capacity undemocratic states tend to prescribe many institutions and contentious performances while forbidding many others. In contrast, low-capacity democratic states will tolerate many, but prescribe and forbid very few.133 They show that;

A regime’s relations, institutions, opportunities, threats, and repertoires combine to shape its popular contention. The deep processes of democratization and dedemocratization strongly affect relations, institutions, opportunities, threats, and repertoires. Contention feeds back. It also reshapes political relations, institutions, opportunities, threats and repertoires.134

Democratic transition and the changing opportunity structures that accompany it are a time of great opportunity and threat. Threats appear to be multiplied by the uncertainty of transition. During this time a range of political opportunities open for communal elites and entrepreneurs.135 Many questions about the outcome of transition are pertinent. Who will hold a dominant position in the state? What position will minorities have? What shape will any potential federal or power-sharing system take? How will benefits from natural resources flow? Who will make these decisions? Due to the uncertainty inherent in political transition, majorities cannot give minorities absolute assurances that their status will be protected in the new system. Changing political opportunity structures, often in the form of political change, present both threats and opportunities for a variety of actors.

130 Ibid., 58. 131 Ibid. 132 Ibid., 60. 133 Ibid. 134 Ibid., 67. 135 Gurr, Peoples Versus States: Minorities at Risk in the New Century, 85. 70

2.5.2 Identity Formation A contentious politics approach recognises that identities are constructed, and that actors have a range of identities that they may invoke in different circumstances. In revolutionary Paris, for instance, individuals identified for the first time as revolutionaries and patriots. These identities all had “contested boundaries”, and were constantly changing as they interacted with other parties. They also “coexisted with other identities, such as carpenter, parishioner or spouse”.136 Contentious politics also recognises “everyday primordialism”, and notes that identities are often treated by actors as “essential, coherent attributes of other persons, and sometimes even of themselves”, despite the fact that people have a wide variety of constructed identities.137 Tilly and Tarrow recognise that most often identities exist prior to politics and are often created due to processes unrelated to politics.138

The contentious politics approach stresses that identity is constructed through interaction, as actors are

interacting repeatedly with others, renegotiating who they are, adjusting the boundaries they occupy, modifying their actions in rapid response to other people’s reactions, selecting among and altering available scripts, improvising new forms of joint action, speaking sentences no one has ever uttered before, yet responding predictably to their locations within webs of social relations they themselves cannot map in detail.139

Tilly and Tarrow suggest that identities have four components: “(1) a boundary separating me from you or us from them, (2) a set of relations within the boundary, (3) a set of relations across the boundary, and (4) shared understandings of the boundary and the relations”.140 These shared understandings are not absolute, however. Tilly and Tarrow cite examples of sellers and buyers and students and teachers – two different

136 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 55. 137 Ibid., 125. 138 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 80. 139 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 131. 140 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 79. 71 sets of identities. “In all these cases, the combination of a boundary with relations inside and across it always generates some shared sense of the boundary’s meaning on one side and the other”, they note.141 The understandings of the meaning of that boundary and the contents on either side will overlap, but perhaps not precisely.

In his contentious politics approach to communal violence in Indonesia, van Klinken understood identity formation as the growth of a sense of “bounded identity” in a group.142 Indeed, a key mechanism in the process of identity formation is boundary formation.143 The boundaries of identities are contested, and constantly change as they interact with other parties.144 As noted, identities are not inevitable. They are constructed and deconstructed over time. These processes largely take place outside of contentious politics, or take place across episodes of contention.

The establishment of political identities changes the awareness of actors involved in regards to their own group and other groups.145 An identity becomes a political identity when it makes claims on government, or when the government makes claims on it. For instance, an identity group may demand that the government recognise the group as a member of the political community or guarantee the community language rights. On the other hand, the state may politicise an identity by claiming that a group is a threat to the nation, or give certain groups privileges not given to other identity groups. Contentious politics makes six claims about the “creation, appropriation, activation and transformation, and suppression of political identities”; (1) that actors “constantly manipulate, strategize, modify, and reinterpret” identities; (2) that “mobilization of identities constitutes a major part of claim making”; (3) that while new identities emerge most actors enter contentious episodes through appeals to or appropriation of existing identities; (4) that how, and how well, identities are mobilised has strong outcomes for collective action and its results; (5) that the emergence, change and disappearance of identities alters the identities which can be found in politics after the episode under

141 Ibid., 78. 142 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 11. 143 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 78. 144 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 55. 145 Ibid., 28. 72 analysis has ended; and finally (6) that “the crucial arena for causal mechanisms lies not in individual minds but in social interaction”.146

As noted previously, the fact that identity is socially constructed does not have automatic implications for our understanding of violence. Although there is a connection, identity formation and mobilisation to violence must be treated separately.147 Van Klinken is clear that “[i]t is a mistake to think of identity as in itself responsible for action. Identity is one thing, mobilization that leads to action another”.148 Fearon and Laitin also note that the “observation that ethnic identities are socially constructed does not by itself explain ethnic violence and may not even be particularly relevant”.149 However, van Klinken argues that identity formation helps to answer the question of “why followers follow”.150 To understand how identity groups are mobilised it is important to have an understanding of the content of identities, and, crucially, the relations across the boundaries of identity groups. This will be explored in Chapter 4. Mobilisation, however, is not treated as a separate process in this thesis. Instead, mobilisation is understood as the result of the interaction of numerous different processes surveyed in this thesis. The ways in which each process contributes to mobilisation are noted in the relevant chapters.

2.5.3 Boundary Activation While the boundaries of identity may form outside of contentious politics, the process of boundary activation is crucial to the practice of contentious politics.151 Boundary activation can be understood as an increase in the salience of identity. The relevance of identity, and a keener awareness of the boundaries where identities meet and differ, becomes increasingly important during episodes of contention. The conjuring of identities into politics and their subsequent interaction with other identities activates

146 Ibid., 56. 147 The connection is evident, and discussed later in this thesis. A major part of mobilising actors is the creation or appropriation of identity. As noted, identity formation “interacts with the mobilization process and indeed affects its course and outcomes” ibid. 148 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 64. 149 Fearon and Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity,” 845. 150 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 139. 151 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 78. 73 these identities politically. It can also alter the boundaries of identity and the interactions across and within those boundaries. Contentious politics will also often include attempts to change where the boundaries of identity lie.152 Democratic transition can be a key moment for political identities. This section will explore the relationship between democracy and identity in order to trace how the boundaries of identity are activated during transitions.

The importance of the boundaries of communal identity has been noted above as crucial to understanding inter-communal relations. Barth, an early constructivist, perhaps first drew attention to the idea that a group is defined by its boundaries, and also understood that these boundaries and the content within them (what Barth termed “cultural stuff”) were liable to change.153 Interaction across the boundaries of identity reminds a group of their unique identity. Without this interaction, one’s identity becomes irrelevant or even invisible. This is why communal identity is usually so much more salient for a minority than for a majority in any society. Similarly, it has been suggested that a significant, if surprising, effect of modernisation and globalisation has been the increased salience of communal and national identities, as interactions across the boundaries of identity have become more frequent.154

The relationship between democratic transition and identity is neglected in the literature, but is crucial for understanding diverse states under transition. Among the democratic transition theorists who engage with the topic there is broad agreement on a relationship between democracy and nationalism. While the link is occasionally noted, it is rarely elaborated or explained. According to Linz and Stepan, communal identities can become salient during transitions because “the crisis of the nondemocratic regime is also intermixed with profound differences about what should actually constitute the polity (or political community) and which demos or demoi (population or populations) should be members”.155 As an extension of this, the “negotiation of laws establishing

152 Ibid., 85. 153 Fredrik Barth, “Introduction,” in Ethnic Groups and Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture Difference, ed. Fredrik Barth (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1969), 14-15. 154 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 96. 155 Linz and Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America, and Post-Communist Europe, 16. 74 electoral systems; representative institutions; and the boundaries, rights and duties of citizens, for instance, require decisions about the boundaries, membership and values” of the political community.156 Horowitz agrees with this sentiment, asserting that issues of the political and social boundaries of the national community surface during transition.157

Brown takes these ideas further and argues that we should understand democratic transition as “a transition in the character of national identity”.158 Democratic transition involves the spread of “potentially incompatible” ideas of individual, majority and minority rights, he argues. These ideas are “embodied, respectively, in visions of civic nationalism, ethnocultural nationalism, and multicultural nationalism”.159 National identities gain a greater importance during transitions, and avoiding violence depends on the patrimonial political networks of the old system promoting a tolerant form of civic nationalism, Brown argues.160 This strongly reflects a stress on the importance of elites and their promotion of civic nationalism. Snyder similarly posits that four varieties of nationalism may be promoted by elites during transition; counterrevolutionary, revolutionary, ethnic or civic.161 While all these nationalisms have the potential for violence, civic nationalism has “far less reason to fall prey to the kind of reckless, ideologically driven conflicts” associated with the other types, he argues.162 Democratic transition, then, provides a moment in which the boundaries of national and communal identities are activated and their promotion by elites is paramount.

It is worth bringing the discussion to the relationship between national identity and democracy more generally. Rejecting the assumption that nationalism and democracy are “mutually hostile”, Nodia suggests that nationalism is in fact an essential component

156 Henders, “Political Regimes and Ethnic Identities in East and Southeast Asia: Beyond the “Asian Values” Debate,” 7. 157 Horowitz, “Democracy in Divided Societies,” 41. 158 David Brown, “The Democratization of National Identity,” in Democratization and Identity: Regimes and Ethnicity in East and Southeast Asia, ed. Susan J. Henders (Plymouth, UK: Lexington Books, 2007), 43. 159 Ibid. 160 Ibid., 46. 161 Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 38-39. 162 Ibid., 39. 75 of liberal democracy.163 The “criteria for deciding just who is a citizen and just where the borders are cannot be derived from any logic intrinsic to the democratic enterprise”, Nodia argues.164 Indeed, nothing about democracy dictates who is and is not a part of the political community. It is nationalism which provides nations with this essential starting point. “The early stages of democracy-building make it especially clear that a nonrational act of political definition (determining who belongs to “We the People”) is a necessary precondition of rational political behaviour”, notes Nodia.165 Despite its perceived irrationality, a cohesive sense of nationalism among citizens is a necessary condition for democracy.

Appadurai also recognises nationalism as a fundamental concept behind the modern nation-state, but is less optimistic than Nodia. Instead, he argues that the idea that a nation’s sovereignty is built “on some sort of ethnic genius”, is dangerous, and a fault- line for communal violence.166 Appadurai’s work suggests that no nation can have a fully cohesive sense of national unity. The existence of minorities within nation-states reminds majorities of the uncomfortable fact that the nation is not one cohesive ethnic block and can produce violence.167 This can also help to explain why the mere existence of minorities is easily construed as a threat to majorities. To answer the question of why violence is then not present in all diverse states, he points to the effect that globalisation has in undermining national sovereignty.168 Again, a cohesive and inclusive civic identity, rather than an ethno-nationalist one, would be more conducive to stability. The processes of democratic transition, however, activate communal identities as groups compete for inclusion or influence in the new system, problematising the emergence of inclusive forms of nationalism.

Mann has explored the relationship between democratic transition and mass violence, showing that reforms towards democracy invite impulses to cleanse the territory of

163 Nodia, “Nationalism and Democracy,” 4. 164 Ibid., 6-7. 165 Ibid., 8. 166 Arjun Appadurai, Fear of Small Numbers: An Essay on the Geography of Anger (Durham & London: Duke University Press, 2006), 3. 167 Ibid., 8. 168 Ibid., 7. 76 minority groups.169 He shows that most modern democracies have such a history, whether found in the settler ethnocracies (democratic only within the dominant ethnos) such as Australia or the US, or previously ethnically cleansed European countries.170 Ethnic cleansing became common in the global south during the 20th century, Mann argues, because it is the “dark side of democracy” – “ethnonationalist movements claim the state for their own ethnos, which they initially intend to constitute as a democracy, but they then seek to exclude and cleanse others”.171

Returning to democratic transition, Bertrand found that the reinterpretation of national identity was crucial to violence in Indonesia during its transition. He argues that the violence can be explained by the “critical junction” of transition,

during which institutional transformation opened up channels to renegotiate the elements of the national model: the role of Islam in political institutions, the relative importance of the central and regional governments, the access and representation of ethnic groups in the state’s institutions, as well as the definition and meaning of the Indonesian “nation”.172

He continues;

When institutions are weakened during transition periods, allocation of power and resources become open for competition. More fundamentally, ethnic groups can renegotiate the concept of the nation that underlies institutional structures, perpetuates an uneven distribution of power and resources, or specifies terms of inclusion that disadvantage them.173

As shown by Bertrand, democratic transition has the capacity to activate the boundaries of communal and national identities – altering those boundaries, as well as relations across and within them. Identity groups, uncertain and unconvinced of their place in the

169 Michael Mann, The Dark Side of Democracy: Explaining Ethnic Cleansing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 170 Ibid., 502. 171 Ibid. 172 Bertrand, Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict, 3. 173 Ibid., 10. 77 new system, react to transition by attempting to secure their community’s position in the new state.

2.5.4 Polarisation Polarisation is an important process in contentious politics literature, and involves the “widening of political and social space between claimants in a contentious episode and gravitation of previously uncommitted or moderate actors toward one, the other, or both extremes”.174 It is frequently the result of the combination of mechanisms such as “opportunity-threat spirals, competition, category formation,” and brokerage.175 Diffusion, repression and radicalisation are other mechanisms found in cases of polarisation.176

Polarisation promotes collective violence on most occasions, Tilly argues, because “it makes the us-them boundary more salient, hollows out the uncommitted middle, intensifies conflict across the boundary, raises the stakes of winning or losing, and enhances opportunities for leaders to initiate action against their enemies”.177 It has also been noted that polarisation can stimulate ideology into previously uncontested policy, blocking its solution and even leading to violence.178 Brass also notes how polarisation and the politicisation of communal violence in India create the conditions conducive to the replication of violence.179 It is suggested in this thesis that boundary activation concatenates with polarisation in contentious politics. The two processes are treated together in this thesis.

2.5.5 Actor Constitution The process of actor constitution is concerned with how collective actors are formed. Rather than looking for particular contexts conducive to the constitution of new political

174 Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence, 21. 175 Ibid. 176 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 70. 177 Tilly, The Politics of Collective Violence, 22. 178 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 322. 179 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 309. 78 actors, the contentious politics approach is interested in the mechanisms which produce political actors. Political actors are formed through mobilisation – “by increasing the resources available for collective making of claims” – and change as they engage in contention.180 Just how and by what means actors mobilise and engage in politics is what we are interested in, and is how we will understand these actors. Tilly and Tarrow note that

contentious episodes often bring together actors who know little or nothing of one another at the outset, yet they sometimes emerge from their participation as a unified actor, with an identity, with boundaries separating them from others, and with a set of unified claims that they put forward against significant targets. In doing so, they become collective political actors.181

To understand actor constitution, we look at the mechanisms which concoct to form this process. An important mechanism is scale shift, which can be understood as a process in its own right. The majority of contentious episodes start at a local level, before upward scale shift brings the contention to a regional, national or international level, where the movement’s interests and values must also be appealing to new actors to be successful in mobilisation.182 The claims that actors make may change with the process of scale shift to appeal to a new audience. With varying success, scale shift can institutionalise contention.183 Scale shift acts through a series of mechanisms itself. Perhaps the most important mechanisms are diffusion, by which information of contention occurring in other locations spreads; and brokerage, when actors network and make connections between previously unconnected groups.184 The latter is most relevant to this thesis and will be central to the analysis of Chapter 6.

Effective mobilisation of new actors is dependent upon how issues are framed. Actors define problems, and offer solutions. As van Klinken notes; “The audience will respond to this framing if what has been said touches what they already believe at central points”

180 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 74. 181 Ibid., 70. 182 Ibid., 94, 95. 183 Ibid., 97. 184 Ibid., 95. 79

– frame alignment.185 He finds that frame alignment was successful in 1997 Indonesia, when members of the Dayak community decided that pushing the Madurese out of their district would improve their own lives – a solution supported by a discourse repeated and entrenched since the colonial period.186

Along with interactions with other actors, repertoires are central to actor formation.187 Repertoires are a recurring concept in the literature. Contentious politics invokes a theatrical metaphor to explain these “interactive performances”;188

we can think of the repertoire as performances – as scripted interactions in the improvisatory manner of jazz or street theatre rather than the more repetitious routines of art songs or religious rituals. Such performances group into repertoires, arrays of known possible interactions that characterize a particular set of actors.189

Actors adopt scripts of repertoires that they “have performed, or at least observed, before”.190 Brass also conceived of communal violence as one repertoire among a number employed in Indian politics.191 Brass argued that “every great wave of rioting in modern India has been preceded by new mobilizing tactics that become integrated into the new repertoire and promote violence”.192 He described communal violence as “a grisly form of dramatic production in which there are three phases: preparation/rehearsal, activation/enactment, and explanation/interpretation”.193

Constituted political actors make claims on other actors such as organisations or government. Tilly and Tarrow note that the claims made by actors can be understood as three categories – standing, identity and program claims – which overlap and mix. To

185 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 69. 186 Ibid. 187 Sidney Tarrow, The Language of Contention: Revolutions in Words 1688-2012 (Cambridge University Press: New York, 2013), 15. 188 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 57. 189 Ibid., 49. 190 Ibid., 138. 191 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 12. 192 Ibid. 193 Ibid., 15. 80 declare that an actor exists is an identity claim.194 A standing claim is to assert that “the actor belongs to an established category within the regime and therefore deserves the rights and respect that members of that category receive”.195 Program claims are made upon another actor, such as government, to fill demands or to “act in a certain way”.196 The types of claims which are available to actors differ depending on the regime under which they operate – the political opportunity structure. “Claim-making performances” (repertoires) are variously prescribed, tolerated and forbidden by different regime types, note Tilly and Tarrow.197 Claims and the ways in which they are made respond to opportunities and threat structures, which are in flux during times of transition.

2.5.6 Interpretation This thesis introduces a new process to the literature of contentious politics – interpretation. Interpretation is a process that episodes, processes and repertoires inevitably undergo both during and after the fact. Interpretation has been noted as crucial in the literature on communal violence. Due in part to the large number of people involved in communal violence and the diverse motivations for their becoming involved, there are many interpretations possible of any event or a longer episode of numerous events. Communal violence shares this with other forms of collective action. Brass identified the interpretation of communal violence as one of three major processes which must be understood in order to make sense of communal violence. Similarly, Duncan’s work on Indonesia is particularly focused on how communities “conceived, theorized, and constructed their knowledge of the conflict as they interpreted the events taking place around them”.198 He investigated how the “(re)interpretations of events, rumors, local histories, narratives, and performative acts of violence influenced how the conflict was lived, produced, contested, and remembered”.199

194 Tilly and Tarrow, Contentious Politics, 81. 195 Ibid., 82. 196 Ibid. 197 Ibid., 60. 198 Duncan, Violence and Vengeance: Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia, 7-8. 199 Ibid., 8. 81

The ways in which revolutions, riots and protests are interpreted and remembered have crucial results for the meaning that is attributed to them, their resolution and replicability. It is in the process of interpretation that praise, responsibility or blame is attributed and solutions or responses are formulated. A contentious politics approach will look at the contexts in which interpretations are framed, and the struggle through which a dominant explanation emerges. Like previous processes discussed, actors and how they relate are examined. Contentious politics stresses the importance of interaction, a factor which is evidently paramount in the competition of ideas which occurs after an event. The mechanisms are familiar to other processes noted above. Diffusion and attribution of opportunity and threat are most prominent.

The post-facto understanding of any event which comes to dominate discourse, of course, does not necessarily reflect a correct interpretation of the causes, motivations or mechanisms of any event. Yet understanding the dominant interpretation is perhaps more critical than any search for a “truth” of any episode. The dominant interpretation will have more influence on the resolution, replication or commemoration of any particular phenomenon. In Indonesia, Duncan found that the religious interpretation of the violence which became dominant altered the course of the violence. As the violence came to be framed in religious language, people reproduced it in those terms.200 While maintaining a focus on establishing a factual narrative, this thesis recognises that “truth” is subjective, contextual and particularly difficult to establishing when studying contested episodes of contention after the fact.

Why do some narratives dominate while others disappear? Duncan suggests that while violence occurs for various reasons, a particular narrative will come to dominate because it reflects what people already believe.201 Frame alignment is in operation here. Indeed, Duncan argues that the politicisation of religion under Suharto, including his “repression and manipulation of Islam” facilitated the religious interpretation of violence.202 Some Christians saw Islamisation in the violence, while Muslims interpreted

200 Ibid., 69. 201 Ibid., 66. 202 Ibid., 45. 82 it as their vulnerability exposed.203 Drexler argues that the fact that “some narratives come true is not evidence that those particular narratives are correct representations of the conflict, but rather signs of their discursive power to reproduce [the conflict]”.204 While this thesis does not find Drexler’s argument to always hold, dominant explanations can allow conflict to continue, if altering its character.

The mechanism of diffusion of information affects how conflicts are interpreted and the frames in which they are established. As Drexler notes, “conflicts that appear to be locally produced and reproduced take place in a global context that affects the mobilization, organization, duration, narration, and mediation of conflict”.205 For example, non-state actors must frame their struggle in terms of self-determination and other structures that international law and concepts of human rights will reward.206 Drexler also notes that

powerful international discourses on the threats of “communism,” “ethnocultural” conflict, “Islamist” movements, and “terrorism” have recast the legitimacy of particular conflicts, and in some cases strengthened states against a range of critics and challenges.207

The interpretation and re-interpretation of violence in certain frames alters the production of violence and the responses of actors to that violence.

In the Indian context, Brass has noted that the most evident outcome of the interpretation process is “blame displacement” – “the diffusion of responsibility in such a way as to free all from blame and allow the principal perpetrators to go scot-free”.208 Blame is dispersed so widely, across politicians, communal activists, the disadvantaged, the wealthy, police, and others so much that responsibility is attributed to effectively no one and the mechanisms which produce violence go unattended.209 Furthermore, Brass

203 Ibid. 204 Elizabeth F. Drexler, “The Social Life of Conflict Narratives: Violent Antagonists, Imagined Histories, and Foreclosed Futures in Aceh, Indonesia,” Anthropological Quarterly 80, no. 4 (2007): 970. 205 Ibid., 973. 206 Ibid. 207 Ibid. 208 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 16. 209 Ibid., 306. 83 argues, invariably one political party or another benefit from the dominant interpretation of violence which emerges. “One explanation is distilled from among all the various factors that contribute to a riot, the one that is most useful politically to the temporarily ascendant political party and political leader”, while the rest are ignored, he argues, asserting that political parties are central to the interpretation process.210 The result is that contributing factors continue to operate, including the factor isolated for blame. While the other factors are ignored, this factor becomes politicised and views polarise across it, making any resolution impossible.211

This thesis shows that different scales of analysis generate different explanations, reflecting different concerns and particular narratives that the violence fits into. While locally a conflict may be interpreted to be about ethnic identity and threats to a minority identity, at a national level it becomes a story of national identity, citizenship and a religious threat. Globally, the same conflict enters a larger narrative of a clash of civilisations and is interpreted by scholars in an existing “communal violence” framework – another interpretation subject to the same contestation as any other.

2.5.7 Insecurity One theoretical contribution that this thesis endeavours to make is to clarify the place of insecurity in the literature of contentious politics, a problem identified by van Klinken.212 Insecurity and changes in security can be understood as environmental mechanisms which spur attribution of opportunity or threat. There are numerous environmental mechanisms which occur during a period of democratic transition and these can be found throughout this thesis. Democratic transition affects the conditions under which actors operate. A mechanism which will concatenate from environmental change is attribution of opportunity and threat.213 In this sense, environmental change itself could be thought of as changing political opportunity structure. Opportunity spirals “operate through sequences of environmental change, interpretation of that change,

210 Ibid., 308. 211 Ibid., 309. 212 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 140. 213 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 28. 84 action, and counteraction, repeated as one action alters another actor’s environment”.214 Changes in security structures can create insecurity in actors through their interpretation of the change. That is, through opportunity and threat attribution. This allows us to consider the role of the state, its security forces, and their relations to identity groups. Investigating insecurity and subsequent attribution of opportunity or threat allows us to better understand how violence occurred.

Other literature also links changing security structures to insecurity and communal violence. Job argues that “the security dilemma for the typical Third World state arises in meeting internal rather than external threats, and for typical Third World citizens could well involve seeking protection from their own state institutions”.215 Job invokes an argument similar to the security dilemma; that under the weak state there exists “an internal predicament in which individuals and groups acting against perceived threats to assure their own security or securities consequently create an environment of increased threat and reduced security”.216 While this thesis challenges the applicability of the security dilemma to the intra-state context, communal violence can occur under similar dynamics.

Following Tajima and Gledhill, this thesis takes a nuanced approach to understanding security forces and their reform.217 Democratic transition, and in particular the reform of security forces during democratic transition, is an environmental mechanism which connects with other mechanisms to contribute to communal violence. The inability of the state to protect communities produces insecurity in relations between communities and stimulates attribution of opportunity or threat. As communities can no longer rely on the state for protection, they take offensive measures. Measures taken by one community to enhance their own defence, however, are often interpreted offensively by others, making violence more likely. Insecurity as a result of changes in the

214 Ibid., 243. 215 Brian L. Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma: National, Regime and State Securities in the Third World,” in The Insecurity Dilemma: National Security of Third World States, ed. Brian L. Job (Boulder & London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992), 12. 216 Ibid., 18. 217 Tajima, The Institutional Origins of Communal Violence, 9; Gledhill, “Competing for Change,” 81. 85 relationships between communities, and between communities and security forces, can also contribute to violence.

2.6 Conclusion This analytical framework has outlined the main concepts of this thesis. Smith’s definition of ethnie has been considered, with a focus on the “distinctive consciousness” of communal groups, which are defined in a broad sense in this study. The “communal” in communal identity and communal violence has been considered. In any state in which communal identity carries some salience some conflict along communal lines is to be expected. It is problematic when this conflict becomes violent. Violence along communal division is by no means inevitable, and should not be taken as a result of the salience of communal identity. This is the benefit of a constructivist approach to understanding identity and violence: changes in the boundaries of communal identities and the relations between them are given consideration. The contentious politics framework supports the constructivist approach to understanding identity.

A procedural definition of liberal democracy is suitable for a qualitative study of democratic transition. The implications of different definitions have been examined. Substantive definitions contribute towards our understanding of the outcomes of democracy, yet their applicability to a qualitative study of democratic transition remains limited. The term “democratic transition” is used without assuming that democracy will be the terminus of any reform process. The processes of democratic transition in Myanmar will be analysed in the contentious politics framework of changing political opportunity structures. These changing opportunity structures have influenced the repertoires of action available to actors during this period and their consequences for communal violence must be considered.

The relevant contentious politics processes of identity formation, boundary activation, polarisation, actor constitution and interpretation have been described and relevant links made to democratic transition, communal identities and communal violence. It has also been noted that a contentious politics approach can consider insecurity as an environmental mechanism which can spur attribution of threat and opportunity. The 86 following chapters apply this contentious politics approach to the episode of communal violence in Myanmar during democratic transition.

Chapter 3: Changing Political Opportunity Structures As noted in the analytical framework of this thesis, the forms that episodes of contentious politics take are shaped by the constraints and incentives available to actors; the political opportunity structures. In a period of democratic transition, a period of uncertainty, these structures are in flux. Without established precedent, actors are often unaware of what repertoires are available and acceptable to the state. In this chapter, the theoretical is combined with the empirical. Changes in political opportunity structures in Myanmar during democratic transition are analysed in the context of the relevant literature on transitions away from authoritarian rule.

Each democratic transition starts from a different place. Transitions away from military rule are almost always top-down transitions – more managed than their bottom-up revolutionary counterparts. Uncertainty remains in top-down transition, but elites will have more control over the transition. Myanmar’s status as a former military regime has had implications for its transition. During what Huntington has termed the “third wave of democratisation” (from 1974 to the present), military regimes “almost invariably” had two conditions for their withdrawal from power worldwide: guarantees against prosecution for past crimes, and military sovereignty over national security and ministries concerned with security.1 Furthermore, Huntington bleakly forecasts that the precedent of a “successful military coup in a country makes it impossible for political and military leaders to overlook the possibility of a second”.2 After some considerations of “ideal” patterns of democratic transition, this chapter addresses the role of elites in Myanmar’s transition.

Each democratic transition is different and will prioritise different aspects of reform. There are, however, consistencies. These reflect the definitions of democracy and democratic transition discussed in the analytical framework of this thesis. This chapter addresses the reforms most pertinent to communal violence during Myanmar’s

1 Huntington, “How Countries Democratize,” 584. 2 Ibid., 585. 88 democratic transition; the rule of law, remaining unelected influence and the reform of security forces, the expansion of civil liberties, elections, and decentralisation. Before analysing the democratic transition after 2010, a brief history of political change in Myanmar is surveyed.

3.1 Political Change in Myanmar This section outlines a brief history of political change in Myanmar. Historically, Myanmar has little experience with democracy. During the colonial period (1824-1948)3 local elections took place as early as the 1880s, and the first national election was held in 1922, yet suffrage was restrictive, and boycotts were common.4 After independence in 1948, some experience was had during the parliamentary period (1948-1962). This period, however, was tumultuous and marred with insurgency. Burma’s independence hero Aung San was assassinated along with most of his cabinet in 1947; a devastating event in which much of Burma’s political talent was lost. U Nu became prime minister in 1948 and remained in power at the helm of his party, the Anti-Fascist People’s Freedom League (AFPFL), throughout most of the parliamentary period. Kyaw Yin Hlaing notes that although the political system was “quite open”, most politicians “seemed to consider a political system democratic only when it served their interests”, and many resorted to non-democratic methods.5 U Nu’s government handed power to the military in 1958, and the military ruled for some 18 months before returning power. A brief return to parliamentary democracy preceded the decisive 1962 coup under General Ne Win.

Following the coup, Ne Win’s military-backed Burma Socialist Programme Party imposed isolation on the country, with disastrous economic consequences. The poor economic conditions, illustrated by the UN’s 1987 recognition of Myanmar’s Least Developed Country Status, contributed to discontent and frustration with the government. In 1988,

3 Britain took Burma incrementally across three wars; the first Anglo-Burmese War (1824-1826), the Second Anglo-Burmese War (1825-1853), and finally the Third Anglo-Burmese War (1885) in which the British conquered Mandalay and sent the last Burmese monarch to exile in Ratnagiri, India. 4 Robert H. Taylor, “Burma's Ambiguous Breakthrough,” Journal of Democracy 1, no. 4 (1990): 66. 5 Kyaw Yin Hlaing, “Introduction,” in Prisms on the Golden Pagoda: Perspectives on National Reconciliation in Myanmar, ed. Kyaw Yin Hlaing (Singapore: NUS Press, 2014), 2. 89 massive protests threatened the government. The catalyst was the demonetisation of several banknotes, which wiped out an estimated 80 per cent of the country’s cash, including many peoples’ savings.6 Monks, civil servants, workers, and even police and soldiers were led by students onto the streets to demonstrate. The military crushed the protests, killing at least 3,000 people,7 while thousands more were wounded, imprisoned and tortured.8

Ne Win resigned as head of state in 1988 and a new set of military leaders took power under the guise of the State Law and Order Restoration Council (SLORC), later renamed the State Peace and Development Council (SPDC). Multiparty elections were announced for 1990. The SLORC announced that “a newly elected government comprising the representatives of the people… will come into being after the elections”, and “we, the Tatmadaw, are to go back to our barracks”.9 Various political parties were formed, including the National League for Democracy (NLD), of which Aung San Suu Kyi is now chairperson. In the 1990 elections, the NLD won 59.87 per cent of the vote, and approximately 80 per cent of seats in parliament.10 The SLORC refused to honour the results, instead insisting that the election was held to choose representatives to shape a constitution in a “National Convention”. The NLD left the restrictive National Convention in 1995, and it was adjourned unfinished in 1996. For years, economic sanctions were put in place and Myanmar excluded from the international community, despite the government’s attempts to open the economy. In 2003, then Prime Minister General Khin Nyunt announced the SPDC’s seven step “Roadmap to Discipline- Flourishing Democracy”, which began a gradual process of political change.

6 Bertil Lintner, Outrage: Burma's Struggle for Democracy (London, Bangkok: White Lotus, 1990), 192. 7 Estimates of how many people were killed in 1988 lie between 3,000 and 10,000. R I Rotberg, “Introduction: Prospects for a Democratic Burma,” in Burma: Prospects for a Democratic Future, ed. RI Rotberg (Washington, DC: Brookings Institute Press, 1998); Daniel A. Metraux, “Burma's Modern Tragedy: An Introduction,” in Burma's Modern Tragedy, ed. D Metraux and Khin Oo (New York: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2004). 8 “Burma's Modern Tragedy: An Introduction,” 4. 9 Tin Maung Maung Than, “Myanmar Democratization: Punctuated Equilibrium or Retrograde Motion,” in Democratization in Southeast and East Asia, ed. A Laothamatas (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1997), 189. 10 David I. Steinberg, Burma/Myanmar: What Everyone Needs to Know (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 91. 90

In the meanwhile, discontent with governance continued. In 2007 protests, dubbed the “Saffron Revolution”, monks led an estimated 50,000 people through the streets of Yangon and other cities. The demonstration was sparked by a government-imposed rise in petrol prices, although like in 1988 the causes were more profound and frustration had been building for some time.11 The Tatmadaw and government-recruited civilian militia group Swan Arr Shin violently put down the protests. An estimated 100 people were killed, including monks.12

While the military regime was no doubt resilient, the structures of the state were weak. The military government appeared “to make no distinction between what serves the regime and what serves the nation”.13 As Rudland and Pedersen note, “many of the conditions for a strong regime are detrimental to state capacity”, in large part because the majority of state resources flowed solely into military expansion.14 They argued that fundamentally the weak state problem in Myanmar stemmed from a legitimacy problem,15 explaining why weak states often rely on coercive ruling measures. According to Roe, a weak state is characterised primarily by three related features; a failure to provide for citizens’ economic needs; a weak sense of national identity and cohesion; and internal security threats.16 Due to these weaknesses, the weak state relies on harsh coercive ruling measures rather than consensual government, and is likely to be seen by the population “more as a poser of threats than a provider of security”.17

The SPDC held a referendum on a new constitution in May 2008. Devastatingly, Cyclone Nargis made landfall on lower Myanmar a week before the referendum, claiming an estimated 140,000 lives, and leaving many more displaced.18 The government pressed ahead with the referendum regardless, and the process was far from perfect. Provisions

11 Ibid., 138. 12 Ibid. 13 Emily Rudland and Morten B. Pedersen, “Introduction: Strong Regime, Weak State?,” in Burma Myanmar: Strong Regime, Weak State?, ed. Morten B. Pedersen, Emily Rudland, and R.J. May (Adelaide: Crawford House Publishing, 2000), 7. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid., 9. 16 Paul Roe, Ethnic Violence and the Societal Security Dilemma (New York: Routledge, 2005), 66. 17 Ibid. 18 Robert H. Taylor, “'Myanmar in 2009: On the Cusp of Normality?,” Southeast Asian Affairs 2010 (2010): 201. 91 of the constitution were not widely distributed before the referendum, international observers were not permitted, and there were many complaints of fraud.19 The SPDC claimed that 98.12 per cent of those eligible voted, and that 92.48 per cent approved of the constitution.20 The 2010 elections inaugurated the 2008 Constitution. The NLD boycotted the elections and rejected the process as illegitimate.21 There were widespread allegations of electoral fraud, and the military-backed USDP claimed they had received 80 per cent of the vote.22

Aung San Suu Kyi was released from house arrest just one week after the 2010 elections. Scepticism about democratic transition continued until 2011, when President U Thein Sein’s government announced a top-down process of democratic transition. In an unprecedented event the same year, the government suspended construction of the hugely unpopular Chinese-sponsored Myitsone hydroelectric dam, as it was “against the will of the people”.23 This seemed to illustrate the government’s willingness to respond to community sentiment, and growing discomfort with Chinese economic dominance. By this time, there was little doubt that the military was serious about allowing a certain level of reform. The exact motivations for why the military began the process are unknown, but likely reflect a combination of concern with Chinese dominance in the economy, concern with underdevelopment, and a search for legitimacy on behalf of the military.

3.2 A Gradual, or Sequenced, Transition? There is debate over the most desirable pattern of reform during a democratic transition. While there is no standard linear process involved in any democratic transition, one school of thought suggests there is a sequence of transition which has

19 Steinberg, Burma/Myanmar: What Everyone Needs to Know, 144. 20 Ibid. 21 Morten B. Pedersen, “The 2010 Elections and the Prospects for Change in Burma,” in Democracy and Discontent: The 2010 Elections in Myanmar (Canberra: Australian Institute of International Affairs, 2010), 17. 22 Bertil Lintner, Aung San Suu Kyi and Burma's Struggle for Democracy (Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books, 2011), 148. 23 David I Steinberg and Hongwei Fan, Modern China-Myanmar Relations: Dilemmas of Mutual Dependence (Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 2012), 416. 92 historically given new democracies the best chance at a peaceful and stable transition.24 The “sequentialist” argument suggests that “certain preconditions, above all, the rule of law and a well-functioning state, should be in place before a society democratizes”.25 Scepticism remains, however. Carothers argues that;

The idea of sequencing rests on a mistaken two-part premise: that a significant number of autocrats can and will act as generators of rule-of-law development and state-building, and that democratizing countries are inherently ill suited for these tasks.26

Indeed, there is no reason to suggest that authoritarian governments should be more interested in institution building than their democratic counterparts, nor any reason why they may be better at it. As Carothers notes: “for every Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore there have been dozens or even hundreds of rapacious, repressive autocrats posing as reformists, leaders for whom the rule of law represents a straitjacket to be avoided at all costs”.27 Carothers instead argues, using the concept of “gradualism”, that five “underlying conditions and structures” are of particular importance before democratic transition:28

• Level of economic development: In general, the wealthier a country is, the better will be its chances of consolidating a democratic transition. • Concentration of sources of national wealth: Countries whose national wealth comes mainly from highly concentrated sources (such as oil or mineral deposits) tend to experience significant difficulties with democratization. • Identity-based divisions: Countries where the population is divided along ethnic, religious, tribal, or clan lines often have a harder time with democratization than more homogeneous societies.

24 Edward D. Mansfield and Jack Snyder, “The Sequencing “Fallacy”,” Journal of Democracy 18, no. 3 (2007): 7. 25 Thomas Carothers, “The “Sequencing” Fallacy,” ibid., no. 1: 13., italics in original. 26 Ibid., 14. 27 Ibid., 15. 28 Ibid., 23. 93

• Historical experience with political pluralism: Countries with little record of political pluralism almost always have a harder time with democratization than those having such experience. • Nondemocratic neighborhoods: Countries in regions or subregions where most or all of the countries are nondemocratic usually struggle more with democratization than do countries in more democratic neighborhoods.29

There are evidently parallels between sequentialism and Carothers’ gradualism. Carothers’ underlying conditions represent ideal background conditions, however, rather than prescribed linear stages of reform. Many of these conditions have been highlighted before. Rustow has emphasised the importance of national unity.30 Likewise, the positive effects of living in a democratic neighbourhood have been documented.31 Huntington and Lipset have highlighted the correlation between economic development and democracy or democratic transition.32

The indicators are low for Myanmar on all of the conditions outlined by Carothers. As noted, Myanmar has little experience with democracy and communal division has been widespread. In the current climate of democratic retreat in Southeast Asia, Myanmar’s apparent transition away from authoritarian rule seems to suggest it is an outlier in the region. Myanmar’s economic situation also places it precariously on Carothers’ scale. Among its Southeast Asian peers with available data, Myanmar had the lowest per- capita GDP, lowest levels of economic growth and highest levels of poverty as it embarked on democratic transition in 2010.33 Furthermore, wealth is concentrated in the hands of “cronies”; elites who established key positions in the economy under military rule. The Asian Development Bank lists this is a key obstacle to economic growth

29 Ibid., 24. italics in original. 30 Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” 350. 31 Kristian Skrede Gleditsch and Michael D. Ward, “Diffusion and the International Context of Democratization,” International Organization 60, no. Fall (2006): 916. 32 Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, 66; Lipset, “Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy.” 33 Asian Development Bank, “Myanmar in Transition: Opportunities and Challenges,” (Manila: Asian Development Bank, 2012), 3, 4, https://www.adb.org/sites/default/files/publication/29942/myanmar- transition.pdf. 94 in Myanmar.34 Land confiscation continues to occur, and is tied to the extraction of natural resources by companies linked to cronies and the military. Notwithstanding these challenges, the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development has projected Myanmar to have the strongest economic growth across China, India and Southeast Asia between 2017 and 2021, at 8.5 per cent - but also noted concerns about infrastructure and higher education.35 The effect of rapid economic growth during a period of democratic transition remains under researched and Myanmar may present an opportunity for further research in this area.

3.3 Elites The role of elites is emphasised in the literature on democratic transitions. The “transitology” approach to democratic transition argues that democracy does not need certain conditions to take hold,36 and instead emphasises the important actions of elites, both group and individual.37 Reflecting Rustow’s emphasis on the importance of elites during transition,38 O’Donnell and Schmitter have outlined the importance of choices and talents of specific individuals. They note that during transitions, elites are often split into camps referred to as “reformists” and “hardliners”, the government is rarely united in its enthusiasm for democracy, and “spoilers” may emerge to disrupt the transition and protect their vested interests.39 In a discussion of how countries transition, Huntington also emphasises the role of elites.40 Elites in military regimes are particularly well-placed to transform the regime.41 Diamond makes a similar emphasis and shows that military regimes are most likely to transition when elites make strategic decisions

34 Ibid., 3. 35 OECD Development Centre, “Economic Outlook for Southeast Asia, China and India 2017: Adressing Energy Challenges,” (The Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, 23 January, 2017), 2, 22, http://www.oecd.org/dev/economic-outlook-for-southeast-asia-china-and-india-23101113.htm. 36 Møller and Skaaning, Democracy and Democratization in Comparative Perspective: Conceptions, Conjunctures, Causes, and Consequences, 127. 37 Larry Diamond, “Introduction: Political Culture and Democracy,” in Political Culture and Democracy in Developing Countries, ed. Larry Diamond (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1994), 3; Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition, 15-16. 38 Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” 352, 57. 39 O'Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies, 5. 40 Huntington, “How Countries Democratize,” 580. 41 Ibid., 584. 95 regarding the costs of toleration and suppression.42 This echoes Dahl’s argument that “the more the costs of suppression exceed the costs of toleration, the greater the chance for a competitive regime”.43 In the top-down transformation model identified by Huntington, each stage typically is instigated or completed at the hands of particular elites.44 Governmental elites play a central role until the fifth and final stage, when cooperation by the democratic opposition elites becomes essential to a successful transition.45 Elites are evidently central to the process of democratic transition.

Elites can also play a crucial role in assuring inclusive communal relations during democratic transition. Brown emphasises that elites need to promote an inclusive civic nationalism during transition.46 Snyder notes the dangers of the temptation of elites to appeal to communal identities, or marginalise minorities in order to serve their own political self-interest.47 Hardliners may also attempt to deliberately disrupt the transition process by appealing to communal identities and insecurities, pre-empting communal violence. Although not necessarily the intention, this kind of elite behaviour can derail the transition process.

In his work on the emergence of democracy through elite accommodation, Lijphart argues that previously warring political elites may accommodate each other in order to avoid the repetition of previous “tragic events”, echoing a similar argument made earlier by Rustow.48 Similarly, O’Donnell and Schmitter have recognised the importance of “pacts” during the transition process. They define a pact as an agreement among a set of actors defining “rules governing the exercise of power”.49 Pacts are a crucial aspect of the transition process.

Elites have been crucial to Myanmar’s top-down transition. The Tatmadaw began the democratic transition in 2010 from a position of strength rather than in reaction to

42 Diamond, “Introduction: Political Culture and Democracy,” 3. 43 Dahl, Polyarchy: Participation and Opposition, 15-16. 44 Huntington, “How Countries Democratize,” 593-600. 45 Ibid., 601. 46 Brown, “The Democratization of National Identity,” 46. 47 Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 36. 48 Arend Lijphart, Democracy in Plural Societies: A Comparative Exploration (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1977), 103; Rustow, “Transitions to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model,” 356. 49 O'Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies, 37. 96 internal or external pressures.50 This suggested that the role of military elites would be crucial to the transition, something which has been borne out since 2010 and indeed since Myanmar’s independence in 1948. The emergence of reformists within the leadership in Naypyidaw – most of whom resigned their military roles to engage in politics – has been central to the democratic transition. From 1992, Senior General Than Shwe led the military regime. It is only since Than Shwe retired in 2011, and President Thein Sein led the new “civilian” government, that these reforms have emerged. The reform-minded elites appear to have judged that the costs of continuing to suppress political opposition outweigh the costs of toleration and reform.

Callahan argued in 2012 that an “elite pact” was negotiated behind-the-scenes, between President Thein Sein and Aung San Suu Kyi.51 The parameters of a pact were unclear, but likely included concessions from the democratic movement.52 A shared motivating factor behind the cooperation between President Thein Sein and Aung San Suu Kyi may have been the mutual desire to avoid further economic crisis, repetition of the brutally repressed 1988 and 2007 protests, the inadequate response to the tragedy of Cyclone Nargis, or to reduce Chinese influence in the country by opening the economy to the West. These experiences had implications not only for the democratic movement, but also for the durability and legitimacy of the military government. The emergence of other pacts between key political and religious elites is analysed in Chapter 6 of this thesis in the framework of the contentious politics mechanism of brokerage.

3.4 Rule of Law As noted in the definition of liberal democracy used in this thesis, the rule of law is an important condition of democracy. Carothers argues that the rule of law and liberal democracy are profoundly linked. Without the rule of law, individual rights would be impossible, because a “government’s respect for the sovereign authority of the people

50 Mary Callahan, “Drivers of Political Change in Post-Junta, Constitutional Burma,” (Washington, D.C.: USAID, 6 February, 2012), 1, http://pdf.usaid.gov/pdf_docs/PA00JSHK.pdf. 51 Ibid., 4. 52 Ibid., 2, 3, 4. 97 and a constitution depends on its acceptance of law”.53 Likewise, Diamond asserts that the rule of law protects citizens from unjust detention, terror or other undue interference – and not only from state actors.54 In democracies, the rule of law can provide both legal equality and security. Under the rule of law, all citizens are equal before the law, and are protected from undue behaviour from the state and other actors.55 Although widespread in established liberal democracies, there are significant obstacles to the development of the rule of law in new democracies.

According to Carothers, “Asian-style democracies” have often focused on the “regular, efficient application of law but do not stress the necessity of government subordination to it”.56 This is often referred to as rule by law. Rule by law, while distinct from rule of law, is not an opposing concept. Rule by law can be thought of as something akin, but not equal, to the rule of law. Rule by law, Cheesman notes, “is either what you get because institutions are not working well enough to have anything better, but thankfully, well enough that some type of ‘law’ prevails; or, because powerful people are manipulating laws and institutions for their own ends”.57 Rule by law describes a situation whereby laws are still in operation, yet institutions are not strong enough to provide equality before the law. Alternatively, laws are being used by leaders not in the interests of the people, but in their own interests. A concept known as “rule of men” is traditionally seen as opposing rule of law.58

Democracy and the rule of law are evidently linked. But what is the relationship between the rule of law and democratic transition? The rule of law is constantly recommended as a quick fix to the difficulties of democratic transition. Establishing the rule of law, however, will not solve all of the difficulties of a transitioning state. Furthermore, the establishment of the rule of law is not straightforward. While the rule of law can provide equality and security in established democracies, it cannot necessarily deliver either in

53 Thomas Carothers, “The Rule of Law Revival,” Foreign Affairs 77, no. 2 (1998): 96-97. 54 Diamond, Developing Democracy: Towards Consolidation, 12. 55 Nick Cheesman, “What Does the Rule of Law Have to Do with Democratization (in Myanmar)?,” South East Asia Research 22, no. 2 (2014): 214, 25. 56 Carothers, “The Rule of Law Revival,” 97. 57 Nick Cheesman, “Law and Order as Asymettrical Opposite to the Rule of Law,” Hague Journal on the Rule of Law 6, no. 1 (2014): 105. 58 Ibid., 101. 98 states transitioning towards democracy. This is because the reform of legal institutions does not keep pace with democratic transition. Often, such institutions still “consist of the instruments, personnel, practices and ideas of previous undemocratic eras”, notes Cheesman,59 and are thus unable to provide equality under the law. Cheesman warns that during transitions, framing security issues in a rule of law context necessarily bounds responsibility for security to the state, often undermining democratic reforms.60 Governmental elites may attribute their actions to the appealing lexicon of the rule of law, when their policies in fact undermine democracy.

For states in transition, the reform of legal institutions and implementation of the rule of law is usually done incrementally by branches or bodies of law – such as criminal law or administrative law.61 Carothers suggests an alternative method of reform, based on three levels of depth. First, laws themselves are revised, with outdated provisions removed or reformed to suit the democratic state. Second is the strengthening of legal institutions, in order to make them “more competent, efficient, and accountable”.62 Training and salary increases for judges and court staff are important in this stage, while reforms also target police, prosecutors and others working in the justice system. Finally, the government’s compliance with law should be ensured, with judicial independence paramount. Government officials must accept judicial authority and refrain from interference in that system and from placing themselves above the law.63 Implementing the rule of law is a gradual process, and almost inevitably will take place alongside other key reforms. The sequentialist argument, given for example by Snyder,64 suggests that the rule of law should be developed before elections are held, or else violent conflict or a failure of transition becomes more likely. As noted above, this is problematised by Carothers, who has argued that only a democratic government would be truly committed to developing the rule of law.65

59 “What Does the Rule of Law Have to Do with Democratization (in Myanmar)?,” 217. 60 Ibid., 226. 61 Carothers, “The Rule of Law Revival,” 99. 62 Ibid., 100. 63 Ibid., 99-100. 64 Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 41. 65 Carothers, “The “Sequencing” Fallacy,” 14. 99

In a democratic system, an effective separation of powers assists the rule of law. Pedersen has argued that the USDP government showed “a clear commitment, in both words and deeds, to promote democratic institutions and values”.66 The proactive Hluttaw has been “one of the positive surprises of the post-2011 regime”, he noted, as it provided a significant check on the executive.67 Myanmar’s judicial system, however, remains far from independent. Pedersen notes that “rule of law has long meant ‘rule of power’ in Myanmar”.68 He has previously written that “laws are incidental at best to the politics of power and interests”.69

The rhetoric of developing the rule of law has been widespread during Myanmar’s transition, yet this rhetoric is often used to preserve undemocratic institutions.70 Cheesman has documented how the rule of law language did not reach Myanmar with the advent of recent democratic transition, but has been invoked by successive governments in recent history.71 He has noted how the rhetoric of the rule of law is politically convenient and malleable, carrying different meanings and interpretations for different speakers and audiences.72 The deployment of this language in the context of democratic transition and communal violence is further analysed in Chapter 8 of this thesis. The independence of the judiciary is paramount to institutionalising the rule of law, yet little reform has taken place on this front in Myanmar to date.

3.5 Unelected Influence and Security Forces Reform The independence of government from unelected influence is a key condition of democracy. Throughout the period under consideration this remained out of sight in Myanmar. The armed forces remain central to administration and governance, controlling three powerful ministries; Defence, Home Affairs and Border Affairs.

66 Morten B. Pedersen, “Myanmar in 2014: Tacking against the Wind,” Southeast Asian Affairs 2015, no. 1 (2015): 224. 67 Ibid., 226-27. 68 Ibid., 240. 69 Morten B. Pedersen, “The Politics of Burma's “Democratic” Transition: Prospects for Change and Options for Democrats,” Critical Asian Studies 43, no. 1 (2011): 50., italics in original. 70 Cheesman, “What Does the Rule of Law Have to Do with Democratization (in Myanmar)?,” 226-27. 71 Opposing the Rule of Law: How Myanmar's Courts Make Law and Order (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 4-5. 72 Ibid., 6. 100

Coercive power remains centralised in the military and the police remain under the control of the armed forces via Home Affairs. The 2008 Constitution also gives the Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces the right to appoint up to a quarter of the members of each house of parliament, effectively giving the Tatmadaw veto power over any constitutional change, as more than 75 per cent approval is required.73 This is just one of several provisions balancing military influence in decision making. Diamond has noted that the constitution attempts to institutionalise a “competitive authoritarian regime in which the military will remain a dominant veto player”.74 Article 59(f) disqualifies potential presidential candidates if their spouse, parents, or children are citizens of a foreign country,75 therefore disqualifying Aung San Suu Kyi, long perceived as a threat to military influence, from the presidency.

Under military rule, the primary objective of the security forces was to protect the regime, not to protect its citizenry. The military was responsible for all security up to the USDP era.76 While police were responsible for law and order during the parliamentary period, by 1964 “responsibility for law and order in Burma had effectively passed to the Tatmadaw”.77 However, security forces underwent reform both before and during the USDP government. Changes in the responsibilities of security forces have been gradual, and some characteristics have not changed. Low levels of confidence in the state to guarantee communities’ security persist.

Reform of the Myanmar Police Force (MPF) began before President Thein Sein’s government took power in 2011. In the 1990s, General Khin Nyunt is thought to have encouraged police training and instituted plans to reform police culture.78 Reform intensified under the USDP government’s reform efforts. Today, soldiers are no longer

73 The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Constitution of the Rebublic of the Union of Myanmar,” (2008), 6, 39, 52, http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs5/Myanmar_Constitution-2008-en.pdf. The Commander-in-Chief does not dictate how members vote in the parliament, however, and military MPs have surprised observers by voting in support of reforms. Callahan, “Drivers of Political Change,” 128. 74 Larry Diamond, “The Opening in Burma: The Need for a Political Pact,” Journal of Democracy 23, no. 4 (2012): 141. 75 The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Constitution,” 19-20. 76 INGO Staff Working in Security Sector, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 5 April, 2017. 77 Andrew Selth, “Burma's Security Forces: Performing, Reforming, or Transforming?,” Griffith Asia Institute Regional Outlook Paper 45 (2013): 10. 78 “Police Reform and the 'Civilianisation' of Security in Myanmar,” in Law, Society and Transition in Myanmar, ed. Melissa Crouch and Tim Lindsay (Oxford & Portland: Hart Publishing, 2014), 274. 101 as common a sight on the streets of Myanmar as they once were. Responsibility for law and order in the cities, towns and villages was gradually transferred from the Tatmadaw to the MPF in the early years of the USDP government. In 2011, the police took over responsibility for crowd control. “These days, there are more blue uniforms than green uniforms manning rural checkpoints, patrolling city streets, protecting VIPs, providing security for government offices and guarding diplomatic premises”, notes Selth.79 The MPF is now responsible for “crime prevention, the maintenance of law and order, and protection of the community”.80 They answer to and receive orders from state and regional Chief Ministers as well as MPF headquarters in Naypyidaw, creating what can be a confused chain of command.81 The MPF are the first respondents, and the Tatmadaw will only attend if the police are unable to contain the situation.82 This was the case in Sittwe in June 2012, as well as other cases of communal violence.

One characteristic of the police force that has not changed since the colonial period is the lack of confidence held in it by the population. As Selth notes, police “have been seen as the willing servants of repressive and self-serving regimes that have cared little for the welfare and interests of the average citizen”, and as a result “the community’s attitude has invariably been one of fear and distrust”.83 The MPF has largely been regarded as corrupt, unprofessional, and the agents of an oppressive state, rather than at the service of the public. An Asian Human Rights Commission report documented cases of police abuse under military rule, finding that nepotism was common, corruption “endemic”, violence, or the threat of, was routine, and that police acted with impunity under an ineffective judicial system.84 The public find this in harsh everyday encounters with the police,85 reinforcing a low opinion. The police have a range of opportunities to engage in eliciting bribes through intimidation and extortion, suggesting that “the MPF sees itself as above the laws it is charged to uphold”.86

79 Ibid., 279. 80 Ibid., 279-80. 81 INGO Staff Working in Security Sector, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 5 April, 2017. 82 Selth, “Police Reform and the 'Civilianisation' of Security in Myanmar,” 279. 83 Ibid., 282. 84 Asian Human Rights Commission, “Burma's Cheap Muscle,” (Hong Kong: Asian Human Rights Commission, 26 March, 2009), http://alrc.asia/article2/2009/03/burmas-cheap-muscle/. 85 Ibid. 86 Selth, “Police Reform and the 'Civilianisation' of Security in Myanmar,” 283. 102

Despite a certain level of reform, the MPF remains part of the defence hierarchy, under the control of the Defence Services. Asian Parliamentarians for Human Rights (APHR) noted in 2015 that perhaps the most evident weakness in state structures in Myanmar was the “lack of effective civilian control of security forces”.87 Given that the Defence Services are not accountable to the people under the 2008 constitution, the MPF’s responsive potential is limited. This may compound public concerns. Furthermore, as Selth has noted, the policing roles to which the MPF is assigned “are at odds with the military-style training and ethos of the battalions, which are accustomed to exercising violence up to, and including, lethal force”.88 Police are also trained and expected, as per the military, to be rotated between various positions of the force. A deficit of specialized training, combined with the fact that officers are often transferred before they gain expertise in one sector presents “huge challenges” to effective policing.89 These structural factors have fostered ineffectiveness, impunity, and poor community relations.

Aside from incidents of police responses to communal violence, one instance from the period under investigation invited criticism on the professionalism of the MPF. During the crackdown on peaceful protesters at the Letpadaung copper mine in upper Myanmar in November 2012, “dozens of monks and villagers were injured”, many with burns inflicted by the measures employed by police.90 “The police were strongly criticised for their heavy-handed operation to clear demonstrators from the mine site”, notes the ICG.91 While the roles of police may have changed, negative perceptions of the police were also reinforced during this period.

Reforms have been made not only to the MPF, but also to Myanmar’s vast intelligence network. While intelligence networks still operate in Myanmar, “the overt level of

87 APHR, “The Rohingya Crisis,” 12. 88 Selth, “Police Reform and the 'Civilianisation' of Security in Myanmar,” 280. 89 INGO Staff Working in Security Sector, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 5 April, 2017. 90 Associated Press, “Burmese Troops Crack Down on Mine Protest before Aung San Suu Kyi Visit,” The Guardian, 29 November 2012, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/nov/29/burma-mine-protest- letpadaung. 91 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 16. There has been speculation that the reprimand of the MPF after the Letpadaung crackdown made police reluctant to use force in their response to communal violence in Meiktila in 2013. 103 oppression in Burma has declined”.92 Selth notes that intelligence agencies now appear to be spending more time investigating civil and economic crimes and corruption,93 rather than the perceived anti-state political activity they followed closely in the past. It is sometimes remarked that the instances of anti-Muslim violence which occurred in Myanmar before 2010 could not have occurred without the knowledge of the military government, due to their expansive intelligence network, suggesting that the military at least implicitly allowed violence to occur in some instances. The reform and loosening of intelligence could have had two effects. First, communal activists, without monitoring by the state, would have been free to engage in mobilisation for violence. Second, and relatedly, the government would have been less aware that the potential for communal violence was growing, and so were not able to divert it.

The legitimacy deficit held by Myanmar’s weak state under military rule necessitated the centralisation of coercive power and responsibility for security in the armed forces. The primary objective of the military was to protect its regime. Security forces reform, in particular the replacement of the military with the police in towns and cities, occurred during democratic transition. This changing political opportunity structure may have changed the attribution of threat and opportunity for actors. Uncertainty as to how the state could protect communities was raised. While the military had demanded fear and respect, the police were known rather for ineffectiveness and corruption. Intelligence reforms may have also had an effect on communal violence, as the potential for violence may have been overlooked by authorities, unlike under the previously invasive intelligence collection regime. This changing relationship between security forces and communities had an important impact on the violence – something explored in greater detail in Chapter 8.

3.6 Expanded Civil Liberties It is important to note the difference between democratic transition and liberalisation. Liberalisation, defined earlier as the expansion of liberties under authoritarian rule, can

92 Selth, “Burma's Security Forces,” 16. 93 Ibid. 104 mark the beginning of transition. Without greater reforms, however, liberalisation risks “degenerating into mere formalism”, or what O’Donnell and Schmitter call “popular democracy”.94 Today, we may call such a system liberal authoritarianism, reminiscent of Singapore. O’Donnell and Schmitter found that authoritarian regimes often liberalise with the hope that it will “relieve various pressures and obtain needed information and support without altering the structure of authority”.95 Often this is a misjudgement. Huntington notes that the “experience of the third wave strongly suggests that liberalized authoritarianism is not a stable equilibrium; the halfway house does not stand”.96 According to Boudreu, during democratic transitions “state authorities may still substantially rely on repression, but espouse liberalized rules of democratic participation that allow more frequent mobilization and protest”, a dangerous combination.97 Indeed, the evidence currently available suggests that political liberalisation in heterogeneous societies is correlated with internal violence.98

Liberties have been expanded significantly since transition in Myanmar. Today, people in Myanmar experience the greatest liberties of communication, movement, and association since the parliamentary period. Internet and press censorship has been significantly relaxed, gradually since 2011. There was a vast expansion in the number of newspapers in the wake of liberalisation. While articles regarding sport, entertainment, health and children were first exempt from censorship, in August 2012 censorship was abolished altogether.99 There were few safeguards in place early in the transition, and independent media coverage differed considerably from state media. Mobile phone usage has also spread prolifically. Before the transition, sim cards cost up to US$2000, but can now be purchased for less than US$2. Mobile penetration was close to 0 per

94 O'Donnell and Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies, 9. 95 Ibid. italics in original. 96 Huntington, The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century, 598. 97 Vincent Boudreau, “Democratization and Security,” in Routledge Handbook of Democratization, ed. Jeffrey Haynes (New York: Routledge, 2012), 374. 98 Hegre et al., “Towards a Democratic Civil Peace? Democracy, Political Change and Civil War, 1816- 1992,” 34. 99 Thomas Fuller, “Myanmar to Curb Censorship of Media,” The New York Times, 20 August 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/08/21/world/asia/myanmar-abolishes-censorship-of-private- publications.html?_r=0. 105 cent in 2002, reached approximately 10 per cent in 2014,100 and by 2017 some 87 per cent of households owned at least one mobile phone.101 Internet penetration reached approximately 28 per cent in 2017.102

The Peaceful Assembly and Peaceful Procession Law was significantly reformed by parliament in 2012, then again in June 2014, prompting praise from the international community.103 There has also been some criticism, however, including of “vague and subjective terms” in the legislation.104 Despite these drawbacks, there is no doubt that Myanmar people have the greatest political freedoms they have had since the parliamentary period. These liberalisations have profound effects on the types of contention that the state allows.

3.7 Elections In divided societies transitioning away from authoritarian rule, elections are fundamentally important. Electoral rules modify benefits and penalties, making certain behaviours more rewarding. These rules in part determine communal cooperation, inter-communal competition, and representation in government. The most desirable balance of these outcomes is fiercely contested, as are the mechanisms required to foster them. Changes in these political opportunity structures strongly modify how contention is structured and enacted. Lijphart and Horowitz have been at the centre of this debate and agree on many premises. Both concur that communal divisions are a challenge for democracy, and that elections can exacerbate communal tensions. Neither

100 Maude Morrison, “The New Radicals,” in SAIS Asia Conference (Washington DC2014), 3; Steven Milward, “Myanmars New Mobile Internet Users Embrace Android Smartphones, Pick Viber over Facebook “ Tech in Asia, 24 June 2014, https://www.techinasia.com/myanmar-new-mobile-internet- users-embrace-android-smartphones-and-viber/. 101 Centre for Insights in Survey Research, “Survery of Burma/Myanmar Public Opinion: March 9 - April 1, 2017,” (Washington, DC: International Republican Institute, 2017), 51, http://www.iri.org/sites/default/files/2017-8-22_burma_poll_presentation.pdf. 102 Ibid., 54. 103 see, for example, Article 19, “Myanmar: Amended Right to Peaceful Assembly and Peaceful Procession Law,” (Article 19, August, 2014), 2. 104 HRW, “Burma: “Peaceful Assembly Law” Fails to End Repression: Cease Arrests of Peaceful Protestors, Amend Laws,” Human Rights Watch, 26 January 2015, https://www.hrw.org/news/2015/01/26/burma-peaceful-assembly-law-fails-end-repression. 106 suggests attempting to eradicate differences through assimilation. There is considerable debate, however, over the best methods of accommodation.105

Lijphart’s model for democracy in divided societies is consociationalism. There are two main elements to the model: power sharing among “representatives of all significant communal groups”; and group autonomy under which “groups have authority to run their own internal affairs”.106 The consociational model is typically comprised of a proportional representation electoral system, parliamentary government, power sharing in the executive, cabinet stability and a federal system, although Lijphart asserts that these should be modified to fit context-specific conditions.107

Horowitz finds consociationalism “motivationally inadequate”, rejecting Lijphart’s assumption that elites from a majority communal group would agree to accommodate minorities at the cost of their own influence.108 There is fundamental disagreement over attempts to engineer intercommunal cooperation.109 Instead of assuming cooperation between elected elites, Horowitz designed incentives for leaders to appeal to voters across ethnic divides. This model has become known as centripetalism. The main goal is “vote-pooling” – “the exchange of votes by ethnically-based parties that, because of the electoral system, are marginally dependent for victory on the votes of groups other than their own and that, to secure those votes, must behave moderately”.110 Vote-pooling encourages moderation because extreme policies from communal parties would have the effect of alienating required voters from other communal groups on whose vote they rely. The mechanism to achieve vote-pooling is the alternative, or preferential,

105 For a comprehensive discussion of this debate see; Sujit Choudhry, “Bridging Comparative Politics and Comparative Constitutional Law: Constitutional Design in Divided Societies,” in Constitutional Design for Divided Societies: Integration or Accommodation?, ed. Sujit Choudhry (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 26. 106 Arend Lijphart, “Constitutional Design for Divided Societies,” Journal of Democracy 15, no. 2 (2004): 97. 107 Ibid., 100-05. 108 Donald L. Horowitz, “Constitutional Design: Proposals Versus Processes,” in The Architecture of Democracy, ed. Andrew Reynolds (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 20. 109 Choudhry, “Bridging Comparative Politics and Comparative Constitutional Law: Constitutional Design in Divided Societies,” 25. 110 Horowitz, “Constitutional Design: Proposals Versus Processes,” 23. 107 vote. Voters must list preferences, before an instant run-off until a candidate has a majority of votes. The same electoral rules are used for electing a president.

Lijphart, however, has questioned why minorities would accept a system in which they have no representation in the legislature or executive, a critique acknowledged by Horowitz.111 Both approaches evidently suffer from issues of implementation. Choudhry argues that while consociationalism would be more acceptable to a diversity of groups, centripetalism may produce greater stability.112 Furthermore, moderation is more likely under centripetalism, although at the cost of representation.113 This is disputed by Reilly, who argues that there must be “sufficient moderate sentiment” existing in the electorate for the centripetal system to be successful, as it cannot “invent” moderation.114

Consociationalism has been said to reflect primordial interpretations of identity.115 It treats identity as a fixed political reality, at least at the non-elite level. It has been said that this system will entrench identities and even increase polarisation.116 Responding to this criticism, consociationalists would argue that the model is based on self- determination and group autonomy. Centripetalism advocates attracting leaders to a moderate position in order to build inter-communal ties. The unsettled nature of the debate reflects the fact that the system needs to be modified to meet the specific political environment of a country, as argued by Reilly.117

In Myanmar, as noted, elections were held on 7 November 2010, but were found to be less than free and fair. The NLD boycotted the elections, although a breakaway faction, the National Democratic Force, contested them. Other parties also contested the election, including ethnic parties. The USDP claimed the vast majority of seats, however. By-elections were held in April 2012. The NLD registered and won 43 of 44 contested seats, which translated into approximately five per cent of total seats in Parliament. The

111 See, Choudhry, “Bridging Comparative Politics and Comparative Constitutional Law: Constitutional Design in Divided Societies,” 25. 112 Ibid. 113 Ibid. 114 Benjamin Reilly, “Electoral Systems for Divided Societies,” Journal of Democracy 13, no. 2 (2004): 167. 115 Fearon and Laitin, “Violence and the Social Construction of Ethnic Identity.” 116 Bertrand and Haklai, “Democratization and Ethnic Minorities.” 117 Reilly, “Electoral Systems for Divided Societies,” 169. 108

2012 by-elections were held under the same 2008 Constitution that governed the 2010 elections. On 8 July 2015, the Union Election Commission announced that nation-wide elections would be held on 8 November that year. Then President Thein Sein vowed “that we will try our best to have clean, free and fair 2015 general elections”.118 The elections were judged as such by international observers, and the NLD won 86 per cent of elected seats across the two houses of parliament.

Under the 2008 Constitution, 75 per cent of representatives of each house of parliament are elected, with the remaining 25 per cent of seats filled by the military. Representatives are elected for five-year terms. The upper House of the Union Parliament (Amyothar Hluttaw or House of Nationalities) has 168 elected seats, while the lower House (Pyithu Hluttaw or House of Representatives) has 330 elected seats. The seven states and seven regions of the Union, each with its own unicameral parliament, have varying numbers of seats depending on the number of townships in the state or region.119

In the current electoral system constituencies for the lower House are aligned with townships, a system which has been in place since Myanmar’s independence. As The Carter Center notes, however, this system is problematic in terms of the equality of the vote – there are huge differences in the populations of townships across the country with the least populous Injangyan Township, Kachin State, (population 1,408) and the most populous Hlaing Township, Yangon Region (population 521,976) each electing one member to the house.120 Constituencies for the upper House – 12 for each state or region – are combinations of townships or divisions of townships.

Myanmar uses a single-member district, “first-past-the-post” plurality electoral system – the candidate with the most votes in each constituency is elected. This electoral system is thought to disadvantage ethnic parties – especially in regions where there is

118 The Irrawaddy, “Thein Sein Vows Elections Will Be Free and Fair,” The Irrawaddy, 9 July 2015, http://www.irrawaddy.org/burma/thein-sein-vows-elections-will-be-free-and-fair.html. 119 The Carter Center, “Observing Myanmar's General Elections,” (Atlanta: The Carter Center, 16 August, 2016), 26, https://www.cartercenter.org/resources/pdfs/news/peace_publications/election_reports/myanmar- 2015-final.pdf. 120 Ibid., 24, 27. 109 more than one ethnic party claiming to represent a minority community. This was evident in the 2015 election. In most states, ethnic parties were unsuccessful due to the fact that there were multiple parties representing the same ethnic group. Rakhine State was the exception. The Rakhine Nationalities Development Party (RNDP) and the Arakan League for Democracy (ALD) merged to form the Arakan National Party (ANP) before the election, and subsequently won a majority of elected seats in the Rakhine State Hluttaw. In other ethnic states, however, two or more ethnic parties split the vote.

A mechanism exists to give ethnic minorities a voice in parliament outside of their ethnic state. If the population of an ethnic minority community (included in the list of 135 taing-yintha) residing outside of their own ethnic state constitutes equal or greater to 0.1 per cent of the national population, they shall elect an “ethnic minister” at the state or regional level. This applies to ethnic minorities living outside of their ethnic state. For instance, Shan living in Shan State cannot elect an ethnic minister, but Shan living in Mandalay Region may – providing the Shan population in Mandalay Region meets the required proportion of the total national population.121 This mechanism illustrates the salience of ethnicity in contemporary Myanmar and the ethnic basis on which claims upon the state are made. This is encouraged by and reflected in government policy. As well as reinforcing and politicising identity, the mechanism recognises the salience of identity and is an attempt to provide some protection for minorities.

As can be seen, Myanmar’s electoral system reflects neither Lijphart’s consociationalism nor Horowitz’s centripetalism. While the first-past-the-post electoral system appears to disadvantage ethnic minority parties, its consequences for intra-ethnic cooperation are unknown and remain under-studied. While inter-ethnic conflict in Myanmar is perhaps better known, intra-ethnic conflict is also evident in the large numbers of ethnic parties claiming to represent the same ethnic community. How has Myanmar’s first-past-the- post electoral system influenced “ethnic out-bidding” – the tendency for ethnic parties to appeal to extreme policies to undermine their more moderate counterparts?122 It is

121 Ibid., 26.As The Carter Center notes, this mechanism is also not available to ethnic minorities who have a self-administered zone or district in that state or region. 122 Choudhry, “Bridging Comparative Politics and Comparative Constitutional Law: Constitutional Design in Divided Societies,” 21. 110 not clear whether the current system encourages parties to meet in the moderate centre or to appeal to dangerous forms of ethno-nationalism to win votes. The variety of behaviour by ethnic parties in Rakhine State and elsewhere in the country provide opportunities for further research to understand this important phenomenon.

More broadly, the advent of elections has the propensity to heighten communal tensions. A history of politics along communal lines, and its replication in the current electoral system, has great potential to fuel conflict and violence. Communal groups with a recent history of antagonism compete for seats in electorates with a population split along communal lines. These problems have been exacerbated by national laws, including electoral laws, which privilege some communities over others. The emergence of party politics and elections in 2010 and since presented varying threats and opportunities for communities and their aspiring political representatives as Myanmar moved towards electoral politics. This has invariably affected the ways in which contention has emerged as will be noted in the following chapters.

3.8 Decentralisation Decentralisation of state power is a common process accompanying democratic transitions. There are strong links between decentralisation and democracy.123 Defined as “the devolution of power and responsibilities from the national to the subnational level”, the most institutionalised manifestation of decentralisation is federalism.124 Lijphart notes that such a system is “undoubtedly an excellent way” to provide autonomy for communal groups in divided societies, particularly those with groups concentrated geographically.125 Decentralisation can be beneficial for democracy in any country. By giving meaningful power to subnational units, decentralisation reduces the space between government and people, increases opportunities for the people to

123 Hamish Nixon et al., “State and Regional Governments in Myanmar,” (Myanmar Development Resource Institute - Centre for Economic and Social Development & The Asia Foundation, 2013), 76, http://asiafoundation.org/resources/pdfs/StateandRegionGovernmentsinMyanmarCESDTAF.PDF. 124 Pippa Norris, Driving Democracy: Do Power-Sharing Institutions Work? (Cambridge & New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 157. 125 Lijphart, “Constitutional Design for Divided Societies,” 104. 111 engage, interact, and participate in government, and gives groups greater control over local policies which affect them.126

Freedom House releases an annual report on nations transitioning away from authoritarian rule. One criterion used to judge nations’ progress toward or from democracy is decentralisation, or “local democratic governance”.127 States which most closely reflect liberal democratic practices of decentralisation will have positive responses to these questions:

1. Are the principles of local democratic government enshrined in law and respected in practice?... 2. Are citizens able to choose their local leaders in free and fair elections?... 3. Are citizens ensured meaningful participation in local government decision- making? … 4. Do democratically elected local authorities exercise their powers freely and autonomously?... 5. Do democratically elected local authorities have the resources and capacity needed to fulfill their responsibilities?... 6. Do democratically elected local authorities operate with transparency and accountability to citizens?...128

Horowitz, however, has questioned the universal suitability of decentralisation and federal systems for divided societies, promoting the creation of subnational units only if the communal majority in the state is not the majority nation-wide. Under this arrangement, the lack of influence at the national level is mitigated by influence in the state.129 He also suggests that the creation of subnational units has utility in countries with territorially dispersed communal groups.130 He argues that heterogeneous

126 Dawn Brancati, “Decentralization: Fueling the Fire or Dampening the Flames of Ethnic Conflict and Secessionism?,” International Organization 60 (2006): 651-52. 127 Freedom House, “Nations in Transit: Methodology,” (Washington, DC: Freedom House, 2014), 12, https://freedomhouse.org/report/nations-transit-2014/nations-transit-2014-methodology#.VRo7w- HQNeR. 128 Ibid., 17-19. 129 Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict, 617. 130 Ibid., 618. 112 subnational units can result in the transfer of conflict away from the centre, as issues are debated at the state-level.131 While some have argued that decentralisation is detrimental to democracy, as it reinforces communal identities and produces discriminatory legislation towards local minorities,132 most oppose this view and believe that such arrangements reduce the prospects of communal violence and secessionism.133

The Asia Foundation noted that decentralisation was “a priority reform area for President Thein Sein’s government”, which perceived it as a tool to improve efficiency, develop the economy, and support the nationwide peace process.134 The system remains largely centralised, however. State and regional chief ministers are appointed from among elected state or regional MPs by the president. Chief Ministers are then confirmed by their state or region Hluttaw. Furthermore, the military is also guaranteed 25 per cent of seats in state and regional parliaments. State and regional budgets remain small, and are designed to preserve Naypyidaw’s influence.135 The negotiation of a federal system is expected to be an outcome of the ongoing peace process between the government and various ethnic armed groups in Myanmar’s border areas.

The implementation of the 2008 Constitution itself, however, could perhaps be considered the most significant step towards decentralisation thus far in Myanmar’s democratic transition. Prior to this, state or regional Hluttaw were non-existent and engaging in party politics was by-large ruled illegal. The new formation of political parties, many of them with an ethno-nationalist platform, campaigning and competing for votes reflects these new political opportunity structures.

3.9 Conclusion This chapter has analysed changing political opportunity structures in Myanmar during its democratic transition. While there is a focus on the period up to 2014, subsequent

131 Ibid., 617. 132 Snyder, From Voting to Violence: Democratization and Nationalist Conflict, 40. 133 See Brancati, “Decentralization,” 651, 52; Glickman and Furia, “Issues in the Analysis of Ethnic Conflict and Democratization Processes in Africa Today,” 8. 134 Kim N B Ninh and Matthew Arnold, “In Myanmar, an Evolving Discourse on Decentralization,” In Asia, 2 October 2013, http://asiafoundation.org/in-asia/2013/10/02/in-myanmar-an-evolving-discourse-on- decentralization/. 135 Ibid. 113 developments have also been noted as these are crucial to understanding the context of the episode. In particular, the 2015 election will be frequently referred to throughout the thesis to illustrate the nature of relations between actors. These structures – of both opportunities and threats – have in part determined the repertoires of action open to different actors. Changing political opportunity structures inform how actors respond to their environment. With entrenched communal division, an undemocratic neighbourhood, little experience with democracy, low levels of economic growth and a high concentration of wealth, in 2010 Myanmar appeared to be a problematic candidate for a successful and stable transition away from authoritarian rule. Furthermore, with little rule of law and weak state structures, Myanmar did not align with either gradualist or sequentialist recommendations for democratic transition. Regardless, a strong desire for democratic transition among elites has driven this top-down transition.

With little foundation of the rule of law before transition, legal reform has lagged behind rapid changes in other sectors. Echoing Cheesman, this thesis finds that the rhetoric of the rule of law has been deployed for political purposes. While the military retains unelected influence over the government, reforms of security forces have occurred. While these reforms began before transition, they accelerated under the USDP government. Low confidence in the police remains, however, and these cultural aspects have posed a large challenge to successful reforms. Undoubtedly, the same can be said of the judiciary and reforms in that sector.

Expanded civil liberties gave rise to one of the most free media environments in Southeast Asia. This and the rise of social media present significant challenges and opportunities for all actors. Similarly, decentralisation, elections, and the emergence of local politics have opened opportunities not available to the population of Myanmar for generations. The following chapters will consider the implications of these changing opportunity structures by analysing the processes which constituted this contentious period.

114

Chapter 4: Identity Formation: Exclusive Political Community This chapter is concerned with the process of identity formation in the state which is today known as Myanmar. This chapter considers notions of national identity, as well as communal identities – with a focus in particular on Rakhine and Rohingya identities. Identity and its relationship to the state has developed and changed over time. As noted in the analytical framework, the formation of identities occurs prior to contentious politics. The national and communal identities as we encounter them today had little salience or political meaning in the pre-colonial period. Rather, their politicised construction grew with interactions with the state under British rule. The consolidation of communal identities continued in the post-independence period. Throughout this period, an exclusionary form of nationalism was promoted by the state and Myanmar’s political communal was formally defined on an exclusive basis. The inclusion and roles of different communal groups within the boundaries of the nation were also contested.

The historical institutionalist argument found in this thesis argues that the historically defined exclusive definition of the nation which prevailed when democratic transition began in 2010 was a necessary factor for communal violence in Myanmar. An analysis of this factor can contribute to our understandings of why it was Muslim communities, and Rohingya in particular, who were the targets of the violence. Muslim communities have long been constructed as alien to the Myanmar nation – particularly through their exclusion from the taing-yintha framework.1 This is not a status unique only to Muslim communities, however. This thesis argues that it was Muslim communities targeted in the violence because they have long been construed as a threat to the Myanmar state, a construction that has been widely accepted in Myanmar society. This chapter traces the treatment of Islam and Muslims by the state in Myanmar from pre-colonial times. The persecution of Muslims and particularly the Rohingya from the 1970s is considered.

The history of violence in Myanmar and its relationship to identity formation is also considered in this chapter. Instances of communal violence during the colonial period

1 With the exception of Kaman Muslim communities. 115 are considered in relation to the formation of Myanmar’s political community. The violence between the government and insurgencies challenging the sovereignty of the state in the post-independence period heightened the salience of identity. There were obviously questions of how much the Myanmar state represented all ethnic minorities – some of the longest running civil wars the world has seen were fought, and continue to be fought, by ethnic minorities in Myanmar. However, the membership of these communities in the nation was never questioned by the state, even if their role was. Muslim communities – Rohingya in particular – were in a different position. The military government placed them outside of the nation’s taing-yintha regime and stripped them of citizenship. These constructions of identity, membership and boundaries were to have utmost significance when ideas of the nation were to be reconstituted under political transition.

4.1 Identity and the State Historically Until 1784, the Kingdom of Arakan was situated approximately where today’s Rakhine State lies. Long the “frontier between Muslim and Buddhist Asia”,2 the Arakanese Kingdom was separated from the Burmese Kingdom by the hostile mountains of the Rakhine Yoma, which lay to the east of Arakan. To the west was Bengal. Like other Southeast Asian kingdoms of the time, the Arakanese and Burmese Kingdoms’ borders were largely unfixed, both in geography and in population. At times, the Arakanese Kingdom stretched well into what is now Bangladesh, and Chittagong was an important city that the Arakanese Kings laid claim to until its annexation by the Mogul empire in 1666. The Burmese King Bodawpaya conquered Arakan in 1784 and ruled for a short period before it was taken by the British in 1824.

Charney has noted that while religious identities certainly did exist, there is little to suggest that religious identity was linked to political membership in Arakan.3 This

2 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” (Brussels: International Crisis Group, 22 October, 2014), 2, https://www.crisisgroup.org/asia/south-east-asia/myanmar/myanmar-politics-rakhine-state. 3 Michael W. Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged: Religious Change and the Emergence of Buddhist Communalism in Early Modern Arakan (Fifteenth to Nineteenth Centuries)” (PhD Thesis, The University of Michigan, 1999), 269. 116 reflects the fact that in the pre-colonial period ethnic and religious identities often held little salience or political relevance. Similarly, Scott has found that the diversity of religious communities found in the Burmese Kingdom indicates that “religious conformity was not a condition of political affiliation”.4 He suggests that the importance of the “accumulation of manpower” gave states “great incentives to incorporate whomever they could and to invent cultural, ethnic, and religious formulas that would allow them to do so”.5 According to Ikeya, in that period, one’s amyo (type), the basis of the term lumyo, was in terms of class, not the ethnic distinctions that predominate today.6 There was substantial social mobility between cultural, social and ethnic categories. While religion or ethnicity did constitute an aspect of identity, this was not always the case, and was reversible.7 Instead, political relationships were based on protection, service,8 or patronage.9 These were patron-client relations.10 Walton notes that the importance of ethnic identity grew in certain instances, and cites the example of the increased salience of Rakhine identity as a response to the conquest of the Arakanese kingdom by the Burmese.11

The sangha historically had a close relationship with the state in the pre-colonial Burmese Kingdom, as it continues to do today. Aung-Thwin and Aung-Thwin note that the ancient Bagan kingdom was integrated through the connection of the state and sangha. The kings “linked that well-being of Theravada Buddhism with the legitimacy of state and society, manifest in the orthodoxy and preservation of the Sangha”, through the pattern of donation from the state to the religion.12 As the state supported Buddhism financially, it allowed citizens to gain merit through “good deeds” rather than

4 James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia (Singapore: NUS Press, 2010), 83. 5 Ibid., 79. 6 Chie Ikeya, Refiguring Women, Colonialism and Modernity in Burma (Honolulu: University of Hawai'i Press, 2011), 25. 7 Robert H. Taylor, “Do States Make Nations? The Politics of Identity in Myanmar Revisited,” South East Asia Research 13, no. 3 (2005): 266. 8 Ibid. 9 Matthew J. Walton, “The “Wages of Burman-Ness:” Ethnicity and Burman Privilege in Contemporary Myanmar,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 43, no. 1 (2013): 7. 10 Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 15, 297. 11 Walton, “The “Wages of Burman-Ness:” Ethnicity and Burman Privilege in Contemporary Myanmar,” 7. 12 Michael Aung-Thwin and Maitrii Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar since Ancient Times: Traditions and Transformations, Second ed. (London: Reaktion Books, 2013; repr., 2016), 83. 117 financial donation, and therefore were on the path to achieving nirvana.13 The state therefore endeared itself towards both the sangha and lay (Buddhist) population, increasing its legitimacy. While the Burmese Kingdoms increasingly promoted Buddhism as the regime strengthened over time, Charney found that the Arakanese Kingdom was quite different. He notes;

in Arakan we find a polar opposite to the case of the Irra-waddy in the relationship between the royal court and religion in the context of state formation: the Arakanese royal court favoured religious heterogeneity and tolerance when it was strong and turned to religious orthodoxy and religious purification (or exclusion) when it was weak.14

This perhaps reflects the fact that the polity in Arakan was much more diverse than that of the Burmese Kingdom. There was significant Islamic influence on the Arakanese court. Thant Myint-U describes it as “a remarkably hybrid Buddhist-Islamic court, fusing traditions from Persia and India as well as the Buddhist worlds to the east”.15 Charney describes how the Arakanese Kingdom accepted a form of “nominal Muslim vassalage and the trappings of Muslim Sultanship”, but remained a Buddhist kingdom.16 Some account for this syncretism as an attempt to legitimate the kingdom to its Muslim subjects. Khin Maung Saw writes that “parts of Bengal became a part of Arakanese Empire and they wanted to please some of their Muslim subjects… Hence, they used their assumed Muslim Titles and made some coins with Arakanese as well as Muslim titles [sic]”.17 Such an instrumentalist account may simplify the role of religion in both state and society, however. The Arakanese Kingdom was syncretic and reflected the influence of both Buddhist and Muslim worlds.

Islam reached the Burmese and Arakanese kingdoms at a different pace, and with different levels of influence. Arab, Persian and Indian traders first arrived by sea in lower

13 Ibid., 84. 14 Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 311. 15 Thant Myint-U, The River of Lost Footsteps: A Personal History of Burma (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2006), 73. 16 Michael W. Charney, “Rise of a Mainland Trading State: Rahkaing under the Early Mrauk-U Kings C. 1430-1603,” Journal of Burma Studies 3 (1998): 6. 17 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, Second ed. (Yangon: Kha Yee Phaw Publication House, 2016), 81. 118

Burma and Arakan in the ninth century.18 Historian Sunil Amrith has shown that the Bay of Bengal region – which he defines as stretching across South and Southeast Asia – was a site of the exchange of peoples and cultures long before the colonial period.19 Charney has noted that the first Muslims to arrive in Arakan did so as early as the ninth century, as traders, mercenaries and court elites.20 Charney argues, however, that the number of Muslims settled permanently in Arakan before the 1620s “must have been relatively small and limited almost completely to Mrauk-U”, the capital.21 From this period, the Muslim community grew, particularly in the north of the Kingdom. Slave raiding by Arakanese and Portuguese – with the blessing of the Arakanese Kings – contributed to a growing Muslim population in northern Arakan,22 including around Chittagong.23 By the 1770s Muslims accounted for three-quarters of the population of Danra-waddy (northern Arakan), and approximately 30 per cent of the entire kingdom, as estimated by Charney.24 In the same period, the Arakanese harboured the Mughal prince Shah Shuja, exiled after defeat by his brother for the throne. Yegar had written that the fleeing Prince Shah Shuja was accompanied by a guard of archers, who today are recognised as the Kaman ethnic group – a predominantly Muslim community in Rakhine State.25 In interviews for this research, Kaman community leaders rejected this story and claim a much more ancient history in the region,26 something also claimed in a document distributed by the Yangon-based Kaman Social Network.27 Islam did not penetrate mainland Southeast Asia as successfully as in maritime Southeast Asia, however, something attributed in part to the strength of Buddhism.28 Furthermore, there was no

18 Moshe Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1972), 6; Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 147. 19 Sunil Amrith, Crossing the Bay of Bengal: The Furies of Nature and the Fortunes of Migrants (London & Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2013). 20 Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 147. 21 Ibid., 149. 22 Moshe Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar (Maryland, USA, Oxford, UK: Lexington Books, 2002), 24. 23 Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 162. 24 Ibid., 171. 25 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 24. 26 Thandwe-Based Lawyer, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 27 Maung Sanda (Lai Wae), The History of the Ethnic Group of Kaman (Naing Ngant Gon Yi Publishing House, nd), 20. 28 Mohammed Mohiyuddin Mohammed Sulaiman, “Islamic Education in Myanmar: A Case Study,” in Dictatorship, Disorder and Decline in Myanmar, ed. Monique Skidmore and Trevor Wilson (Canberra: ANU E Press, 2008), 117. 119 widespread campaign to spread Islam via missionaries, traders or conquerors, as these areas did not constitute the attractive trade destinations that maritime Southeast Asia did.

Muslim traders settled in the Irrawaddy valley from the ninth century, where they were often forced to stay for up to six months as the monsoon prohibited ships leaving port. According to Yegar, foreigners were encouraged by local governors to marry Burmese wives, but were not permitted to take their families if they left.29 Yegar also writes that the Burmese Kingdom seized Muslims during their expansions into lower Myanmar, settling their captives in upper Myanmar towns such as Mye Du and neighbouring districts such as Sagaing. This occurred after the Burmese took Thanlyin (formerlly Syriam) from the Portugese adventurer De Brito who had attempted to set up his own kingdom there.30 The Burmese also settled Muslim prisoners of war from Thandwe in Mye Du in 1707.31 Burmese Muslims from Mye Du, who came to be known as “Mye Du Muslims” came to serve in the Burmese army.32 A unit of Mye Du Muslims settled in Thandwe after the Burmese capture of Arakan in 1784. A Kaman community leader in Thandwe noted that the Mye Du Muslims were originally the Kaman prisoners of war earlier captured from Thandwe, returning to Thandwe some generations later.33 While some 50 years ago they may have identified themselves as Mye Du Muslims, today most have assimilated with Kaman and use that ethnic identifier,34 showing the locational aspects of communal identity in Myanmar as well as the propensity for the construction and reconstruction of identity over time.

The Burmese Kingdom varied in its tolerance of religious minorities. At times, the killing of cattle on Muslim holidays was banned, and Muslims were forced to convert to Buddhism.35 In contrast, King Mindon (1853-1878) was very accepting of his Kingdom’s religious minorities, even facilitating the construction of a hostel in Mecca for Burmese

29 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 6. 30 Ibid., 11. 31 Ibid. 32 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 113. 33 Thandwe-Based Lawyer, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 34 Ibid.; Kaman Community Leader and Moulvi, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 May, 2016. 35 Sulaiman, “Islamic Education in Myanmar: A Case Study,” 180-81. 120

Muslims completing the Hajj.36 The community was influential. Thousands of Muslims were in the King’s army at this time.37 A British diplomat sent to Burma in approximately 1800 noted that Muslim communities had split almost all of Rangoon’s trade between each other, and controlled commerce and other contact with foreigners.38 Persian was the official language of contact with foreigners, and was used in negotiations with the British during the first Anglo-Burmese war of 1824-26.39 Perhaps due to the economic dominance of Muslim traders, some tensions were evident. Governors of port towns, where Muslims often settled, tended to cause trouble for the traders through boycotts, persecution and other restrictive measures.40 Despite this, Muslim communities maintained commercial influence. The descendants of these early traders make up what is today commonly known as the Burmese Muslim community.

Islam also arrived from China in 1873, just over a decade before the British took Mandalay in the Third Anglo-Burmese War of 1885. Known as the Panthay or Chinese Muslims of northern Myanmar, ancestors of this community fled the annihilation of a Sultanate in southern China by the Qing dynasty.41 Fearing the massacre of Muslims committed by the Chinese Emperor’s forces, Panthay Muslims settled in northern Burma, where they have been a distinct minority since.42 Many settled around the northern town of Lashio,43 although communities and Panthay mosques can be found in Mandalay and other towns in Shan State. The Panthay mosque in Mandalay is situated on land granted to the community by King Mindon.44

36 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 15. Unfortunately, the hostel was destroyed during the period of military rule. 37 Ibid., 11. 38 Ibid., 9. 39 Ibid., 10-11. 40 Ibid., 6. 41 Members of the same communities also remain in China’s Yunnan Province, where they are known as the Hui. The Economist, “The Hui: China's Other Muslims,” The Economist, 6 October 2016, http://www.economist.com/news/china/21708274-choosing-assimilation-chinas-hui-have-become-one- worlds-most-successful-muslim. 42 Andrew Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, Canberra Papers on Strategy and Defence (Canberra: Strategic and Defence Studies Centre, The Australian National University, 2003), 6. 43 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 46. 44 Maung Maung Kyi, Early Mosques in Mandalay: Hnit (150) Pyi Atein Ahmat (150 Year Remembrance) (Mandalay: Sayar U Maung Maung Kyi Man E Sar Pe Waing Taw Thar Myar, 2013), 50. 121

Islam and Muslims have a long history in what is now Myanmar. While the relationship between communities was at times evidently contentious, there are no recorded instances of communal violence before colonisation. It is important to recognise that identities carried different meanings to what they did in later periods and today. Furthermore, these historical works show that interactions between religious identities and the state carried different meanings to what they do today.

4.2 The Colonial Period Communalism became consolidated in the colonial period. As Charney notes, this was largely due to British policy.45 The connection of language to ethnicity was previously non-existent, but developed as colonial authorities struggled to locate other categories by which to distinguish people.46 Categorising and stereotyping the alleged attributes of different ethnic or religious groups was a British “obsession” in official and unofficial discourse, notes Walton.47 Many of the British recognised the impotence of this approach, and commented on evident discrepancies between linguistic and ethnic distinctions, as well as mobility between ethnic groups.48 Nevertheless, geographical areas were administered separately by the British,49 and ethnicity was central to this system. Karen in the central region were favoured for employment in the police and army above Bamar.50 Likewise, in Arakan the British favoured Muslims over Buddhists as they were believed to be better farmers.51 The British essentialised characteristics of different communities. Further institutionalising these distinctions, the first legislative assembly in British Burma created constituencies based on ethnicity and religion.52 The effect “was to reify ethnicity as a political fact and enhance the political saliency of

45 Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 15. 46 Jane Ferguson, “Who's Counting? Ethnicity, Belonging, and the National Census in Burma/Myanmar,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 171 (2015): 6-7. 47 Walton, “The “Wages of Burman-Ness:” Ethnicity and Burman Privilege in Contemporary Myanmar,” 7. 48 Ferguson, “Who's Counting? Ethnicity, Belonging, and the National Census in Burma/Myanmar,” 8-9. 49 Ian Holliday, “Ethnicity and Democratization in Myanmar,” Asian Journal of Political Science 18, no. 2 (2010): 116-17. 50 Taylor, “Do States Make Nations? The Politics of Identity in Myanmar Revisited,” 274. 51 Charney, “Where Jambudipa and Islamdom Converged,” 270. 52 Taylor, “Do States Make Nations? The Politics of Identity in Myanmar Revisited,” 274. 122 religion”,53 so that “[p]olitical and ethnic identities became synonymous concepts”, argued Taylor.54 Furthermore, “British discourses had the effect of differentiating Islam from things Burmese”, as Keck has noted.55 Communal divisions grew as nationalist movements developed separately in various “national” groups towards the end of the colonial period.56

Under the British regime a crisis of relations between the state and sangha pushed religion into the centre of the nationalist movement. The British policy was neutrality towards Buddhism. The government did not seek to marginalise the sangha, but nor did it maintain the state-sangha link as Burmese monarchs had done. Historically, the most important link had been the royal court’s appointment of a head of all sects; a position the British initially refused to even recognise.57 Buddhist monks marched on the streets to support independence in the 1920s and 1930s, and monasteries were a safe place for young nationalists to meet, out of the eyes of suspicious police. Although Muslims and other minorities also played leading roles, the nationalist movement had a distinctive Buddhist flavour, embodied in the famous nationalist slogan – “to be Burmese is to be Buddhist”. Thus convergence of religion and ethno-nationalism had its roots in the policies of the British.

The British also encouraged immigration from India into sparsely populated Burma, in part due to Indians’ experience in a variety of colonial occupations, but also to boost the economic output of the country. Many South Asians took advantage of this to forge a new life. By 1921, when the total population of Burma was sixteen million, there were over one million Indians in Burma. In 1931, 63 per cent of the colonial capital, Rangoon, was Indian.58 Almost half a million Indians were arriving in Burma each year, although

53 Ibid., 276. 54 Ibid., 274. 55 Stephen Keck, “Reconstructing Trajectories of Islam in British Burma,” in Islam and the State in Myanmar: Muslim-Buddhist Relations and the Politics of Belonging, ed. Melissa Crouch (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016), 39. 56 Taylor, “Do States Make Nations? The Politics of Identity in Myanmar Revisited,” 276. 57 Bruce Matthews, “The Legacy of Tradition and Authority: Buddhism and the Nation in Myanmar,” in Buddhism and Politics in Twentieth-Century Asia, ed. Ian Harris (London, New York: Continuum, 1999), 28, 29. 58 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 31. 123 many were seasonal workers.59 It is estimated that approximately half of the Indians who travelled to Burma were Muslim,60 and those who settled adopted the language and customs. According to Yegar, most Hindu Indians also converted to Buddhism, while Muslim Indians retained their religion.61 Many Muslims in Myanmar today are the descendants of South Asians who migrated during this period. Indians held high posts under the colonial government,62 and were dominant in commerce. Yet Indians could be found at all levels of the economy. An estimated 96 per cent of street sweepers and “scavengers” in Rangoon were also Indian.63 Khin Maung Kyi writes that “poorer classes of Indians also had migrated to Burma, occupying the lowliest positions and many living in extreme poverty”.64

This had adverse effects on the Burmese, and fuelled discord with the British and with the new migrants. Burmese were crowded out of the economy. Khin Maung Kyi argues that fond perceptions of India as the origin of the Buddhist religion, Burmese scripts, and the arts and sciences were challenged during the colonial period.

The Bamar would traditionally look at the Mahavansa (the history of rulers) and the Mahabharata (the epic story of India) with fondness and respect. Yet when the Bamar actually encountered the Indian immigrants in their daily economic life, their experiences had been traumatic and negative. As a matter of fact, modern Bamar have had a hard time trying to reconcile the idealized images of Indians as gathered from the Buddhist culture with the real-life picture of shrewd businessmen that they encountered.65

Opposition to immigration from India, as well as the perceived foreign culture and religion they brought, grew throughout the early 20th century and became a central issue of the nationalist movement. The failure of Indians to adapt to local customs irked the

59 Ibid. 60 Ibid., 29. 61 Ibid., 28. 62 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 8. 63 Khin Maung Kyi, “Indians in Burma: Problems of an Alien Subculture in a Highly Integrated Society,” in Indian Communities in Southeast Asia, ed. K.S. Sandhu and A Mani (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006 (1993)), 635. 64 Ibid. 65 Ibid., 625. 124

Burmese.66 The 1920s featured a “rising tide of communal opposition to the presence and activities of Indian residents in Burma”.67 The dominance of Indians, in particular new landowners and moneylenders, had a disastrous impact on the wellbeing of farmers who previously owned the land they worked. With economic depression and fluctuations in rice prices in the 1930s, anti-Indian sentiment grew.68 Reflecting contemporary grievances, marriage between Buddhist women and Muslim men was an issue exploited by the nationalist movement.69 The Burmese interpreted British policies as a “slur on their religion, Buddhism, as well as an attack on their military prowess and their broader cultural competence”, and an exclusive interpretation of Buddhist Burmese nationalism developed.70

The strength of popular feeling against Indians in Burma affected Burmese Muslims adversely, who wanted no links to India or the emerging Pakistan as Independence and Partition approached.71 As a result, Burmese Muslims set themselves apart from Indian Muslims supporting these causes, as well as the Arakanese Muslims campaigning for an autonomous region. Muslims also played significant roles in Burma’s struggle for independence.72 Notably, U Razak was a key figure during the period, until he was assassinated as a member of cabinet alongside Aung San in 1947. U Raschid also played a key role in the nationalist movement and during the parliamentary period.73

As a result of the tension between Burmese and Indians communities, notable incidents of violence occurred during this period. The Saya San rebellion of 1930-31 had a strong Indophobic element.74 Saya San was a former monk, and other monks also took part in

66 Renaud Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” Asian Ethnicity 12, no. 1 (2011): 36-37. 67 John F. Cady, A History of Modern Burma (New York: Cornell University Press, 1958), 242. 68 Aung-Thwin and Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar since Ancient Times: Traditions and Transformations, 218. 69 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 31. 70 Taylor, “Do States Make Nations? The Politics of Identity in Myanmar Revisited,” 277. 71 Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar, 30. 72 Ibid., 32. 73 Bilal M. Raschid, The Invisible Patriot: Reminiscences of Burma's Freedom Movement (United States: CreateSpace, 2015). 74 Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 38; Matthews, “The Legacy of Tradition and Authority: Buddhism and the Nation in Myanmar,” 31. 125 this and other riots throughout the 1930s.75 The crushing of the rebellion by Indian troops compounded the Indophobic attitudes already developing.76 Other violence with a strong religious current also occurred in 1930 and 1931 when hostility overflowed and Burmese killed Indians on the streets. This violence grew out of a workers strike on the Rangoon docks, when Burmese labourers replaced the striking Indian coolies.77 While an official report recorded 100 deaths, other observers reported 300 to 500.78

In 1938 an estimated 200 Muslims were killed in Yangon and other districts in anti-Indian “pogroms” in which the majority of victims were Muslim.79 While the spark for the conflict was the publication of a controversial book on religion, an enquiry found that it played no “greater part in the history of the riots than that it afforded the instrument of an evil opportunism… which was grasped by the Burmese Press and by a number of other political agencies for the purpose of bringing about a political and social explosion”.80 The underlying causes were found to be economic, political and social tensions between communities, exacerbated by the Burmese press, the sangha, and dangerous rumours.81 Aside of this, Cady notes that “[p]olitical opportunists fomented the riots everywhere”.82 Indeed, it was the Sun newspaper that led the charge against Muslims. This publication was owned by the then aspiring politician U Saw.83 The riots of the 1930s have been said to have generated “irreparable ill will” between the Indian and Burmese communities, so that “the average Bamar saw no redeeming quality in

75 “The Legacy of Tradition and Authority: Buddhism and the Nation in Myanmar,” 32. 76 Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 39. 77 Aung-Thwin and Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar since Ancient Times: Traditions and Transformations, 218. 78 See Cady, A History of Modern Burma, 305. 79 Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar, 30; The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 32; Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 50. 80 Riot Inquiry Committee, “Final Report of the Riot Inquiry Committee,” (Rangoon 1939), 1. 81 Ibid., 6, 7, 275; Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 36. 82 Cady, A History of Modern Burma, 394. 83 U Saw went on to become Prime Minister during the colonial period, but is perhaps best known for his role in the assassination of Aung San in 1947. 126

Indians”.84 In Arakan, in contrast, there are no reports of violence between communities until World War Two.

In late 1941 the Japanese made their approach on Burma with support from the Burmese Independence Army (BIA). Due to ongoing hostilities towards Indians, there was a fear of reprisals against South Asians by the Burmese and Japanese. Most of the estimated 900,000 Indians living in Burma fled to India on foot, and an unknown number – estimated to be between 10,000 and 100,000 – did not survive the horrific journey.85 This number excludes communities in Arakan, where many Indians fled to the Muslim- dominated north, while approximately 20,000 beat a hasty retreat to India.86 Grouping together for safety was a common pattern among Indians in Burma at the time.87 A small Indian community did remain active in commerce in Rangoon during the war.88

The Rakhine were the only ethnic minority to cooperate fully with the BIA, and supported the Japanese when they entered Burma in 1942.89 The Muslims in northern Arakan, meanwhile, allied with the British. The result was the first recorded communal violence in Arakan. From the Muslim population, the British formed the guerrilla Volunteer Force (V-Force). Debate continues over how the violence began and why.90 The result of the violence was that Arakan became divided geographically; with Muslim communities concentrated in the north and Buddhists in the south. Disputes were not resolved after the war, and “memories of the suffering have lingered over the decades on both sides of the divide”.91 The 1942 violence is commonly cited as a root of tensions

84 Khin Maung Kyi, “Indians in Burma: Problems of an Alien Subculture in a Highly Integrated Society,” 640. 85 Nalini Ranjan Chakravarti, The Indian Minority in Burma: The Rise and Decline of an Immigrant Community (London: Oxford University Press, 1971), 170. 86 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 95. 87 Khin Maung Kyi, “Indians in Burma: Problems of an Alien Subculture in a Highly Integrated Society,” 640-41. 88 Tin Maung Maung Than, “Some Aspects of Indians in Rangoon,” ibid., 590. 89 Martin Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity (London: Zed Books Ltd, 1991), 64. 90 See, for example, Aung Zaw, “Disquiet on the Western Front,” The Irrawaddy, 30 December 2012, http://www.irrawaddy.org/magazine/disquiet-on-the-western-front-2.html; Ardeth Maung Thawnghmung, “Contending Approaches to Communal Violence in Rakhine State,” in Burma/Myanmar: Where Now?, ed. Mikael Gravers and Flemming Ytzen (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2014), 325-6; Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 95; Jacques P. Leider, “Rohingya: The Name, the Movement and the Quest for Identity,” in Nation Building in Myanmar (Yangon: Myanmar EGRESS and Myanmar Peace Centre, 2013), 239. 91 “Rohingya: The Name, the Movement and the Quest for Identity,” 239-40. 127 between Buddhists and Muslims in Rakhine State today.92 In 1945, the Burmese and Rakhine nationalists switched sides to support the British, facilitating the return of British rule.

Due to their roles in the conflict, Rakhine Buddhists were neglected by the post-war British government while Muslims were favoured.93 Some Rakhine fighters went underground and formed a movement for an independent Arakan nation. Many Indians who had fled to Bengal returned, together with immigrants from densely populated Chittagong, who settled in the north.94 Nationwide, an estimated 246,000 returned from India by May 1946,95 far less than the number that left.

Ethnicity and religion were consolidated as political categories during the period of British rule in Burma. Communities were given special benefits by the state on a communal basis. One result of this was the polarisation across communities. Competition for scarce resources and preferential treatment encouraged division between communities as communal identity increasingly held political meaning. This heightened polarisation and the salience of ethnic and religious identities. The communalism which emerged was to be the basis for the many challenges of nation- building in the post-colonial period.

4.3 The Parliamentary Period and Military Rule Burma’s first Prime Minister U Nu was a devout Buddhist, and “his personal lifestyle embodied elements of the traditional ideal of the righteous Buddhist monarch”.96 As the Karen insurgency threatened Rangoon shortly after independence, for instance, U Nu took “a vow of sexual abstinence so that by the power of his personal example the

92 See, for example, Mohammad Ashraf Alam, “A Short History of Arakan and Rohingyas,” in The Rohingyas of Arakan: History and Heritage, ed. Mohammad Mohibullah Siddiquee (Chittagong: Ali Publishing House, 2014), 76; The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Final Report,” 61. 93 Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar, 34. 94 Ibid. 95 Khin Maung Kyi, “Indians in Burma: Problems of an Alien Subculture in a Highly Integrated Society,” 642. 96 Donald K. Swearer, The Buddhist World of Southeast Asia (New York: State University of New York Press, 1995), 97. 128 insurgents would be defeated”.97 U Nu’s government was generally, if belatedly, accommodating and inclusive towards ethnic and religious minorities. He was proactive in standardising administration in the border regions and managing ethnic demands – he committed to the creation of Mon and Arakan states, although these would not emerge until 1974.98 U Nu also recognised the Rohingya as an indigenous ethnic group of Burma in word, if not formally.99 U Nu’s government also sought to restore the link between the state and the sangha, making religion a divisive issue. A Buddhist Sasana Council was established and U Nu echoed the meritorious acts of Burmese kings.100 U Nu also alienated religious minorities by banning the slaughter of cattle and launching a Buddhist lunar calendar.101 He wanted Buddhism established as the state religion, an issue which contributed to his government’s overthrow, as it “annoyed” the armed forces, helped to mobilise Christian minorities and attracted others to insurgency.102 This issue has also been said to have encouraged anti-Muslim violence in 1961.103

U Nu also outlined plans for an autonomous Muslim region, the Mayu Frontier District, in northern Arakan.104 The frontier was established in 1961, and comprised Buthidaung, Maungdaw and a part of Rathedaung. It was ruled by the Tatmadaw directly from Rangoon after the military coup of 1962 until it was dissolved in 1964.105 Smith writes that “both the British and the AFPFL were to leave behind a time-bomb ticking in Arakan, which, Muslim and Rakhine nationalists argue, could easily have been defused by discussion”.106 Insurgency and the use of ethnic and religious identities in politics contributed to the further consolidation of communal identity as a political category in the post-independence parliamentary period.

97 Ibid. 98 Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 82, 83. 99 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Rohingya Muslims: Myanmar's Forgotten People,” RSIS Commentaries, 6 February, 2008, http://www3.ntu.edu.sg/rsis/publications/Perspective/RSIS0122008.pdf; Ian Holliday, “Addressing Myanmar's Citizenship Crisis,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 44, no. 3 (2014): 409. 100 Swearer, The Buddhist World of Southeast Asia, 97. 101 Matthews, “The Legacy of Tradition and Authority: Buddhism and the Nation in Myanmar,” 34. 102 Aung-Thwin and Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar since Ancient Times: Traditions and Transformations, 247. 103 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 14. 104 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 5. 105 Leider, “Rohingya: The Name, the Movement and the Quest for Identity,” 245. 106 Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 82. 129

The use of identity in politics continued during the military rule period. Then, the state was nominally secular. Ne Win dismantled the Buddhist institutions set up by U Nu and called for freedom of religion.107 Yet Buddhism grew to have a favoured position within the state. Swearer observes that the military government “attempted to fashion a policy of Buddhist civil religion more systematic and authoritarian than that of U Nu”.108 Top leaders were often pictured in state media visiting pagodas for merit-making purposes, or funding their construction. Donations were made to monasteries in an attempt to gain support for the government.109 The monkhood, the only institution in the country comparable in size to the military,110 were potentially a formidable political challenge to military rule, yet also offered an opportunity to legitimise authoritarianism. In 1980, the government established the State Sangha Maha Nayaka Committee, a government- appointed committee of high-ranking monks,111 often perceived to be a mouthpiece for the government and commonly known as MaHaNa.112 The increasing alignment of Buddhism with the state, as well as the state’s attempts to co-opt and control the sangha, had adverse implications for religious minorities.

As the relationship between religion and the state was altered, so were ethnic identities increasingly politicised. The regime’s official perspective was that 135 national races recognised by the state are descended from a common Mongoloid racial stock and “thus are blood relations”.113 This concept of taing-yintha, or “national races”, remains central to the idea of being Myanmar today. Cheesman has noted that communities in Myanmar must participate in the politics of taing-yintha in order to participate as members of the national community. He notes that this system “invites and obligates” Rohingya to make claims to taing-yintha – something which perpetuates conflict.114

107 Swearer, The Buddhist World of Southeast Asia, 97. 108 Ibid., 97-98. 109 Ibid., 99. 110 Steinberg, Burma/Myanmar: What Everyone Needs to Know, 25. 111 HRW, “The Resistance of the Monks: Buddhism and Activism in Burma,” (New York: Human Rights Watch, 2009), 41, http://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/burmamonks0909webwcover.pdf. 112 Matthew J. Walton, “Myanmar Needs a New Nationalism,” Asia Times, 20 May 2013, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/Southeast_Asia/SEA-02-200513.html. 113 Cited in Curtis W. Lambrecht, “Oxymoronic Development: The Military as Benefactor in the Border Regions of Burma,” in Civilizing the Margins: Southeast Asian Government Policies for the Development of Minorities ed. Christopher R. Duncan (New York: Cornell University Press, 2004), 154. 114 Nick Cheesman, “How in Myanmar “National Races” Came to Surpass Citizenship and Exclude Rohingya,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 47, no. 3 (2017): 463. 130

Indeed, if claims are not based in ethnic terms, it is very difficult to gain traction.115 The state’s strict organisation of ethnic and religious categories is illustrated by the case of a Rakhine Muslim man interviewed for this research. His identity card identifying him as “Rakhine Muslim” was confiscated by authorities in the 1990s and replaced with a Temporary Registration Certificate (“white card”) identifying him as a “Kaman Muslim”. He was told that the government does “not accept Rakhine Muslims”.116 As correctly noted by Prasse-Freeman, however, while the state may have brought the taing-yintha concept to the public, it is now the public who first and foremost enforce it,117 something illustrated by the role of monastics and broader society in rejecting the name “Rohingya”.

Ethnic and religious minorities suffered under the government’s policy of “Burmanisation”: “a socio-political strategy aimed at the assimilation of the ethnic and religious minorities of Myanmar”,118 achieved through the promotion of the dominant Bamar (Burman) culture.119 These processes polarised and entrenched communal divisions. A consequence of the high salience of identity today is that “people often perceive ethnicity as something inborn, unchangeable and in some cases determinant of an individual’s very nature”,120 an example of everyday primordialism. The following sections consider insurgency and the situation of Muslim communities in the emerging ideas of Myanmar’s political community during the post-independence period.

4.3.1 Insurgency Insurgency against the state was central to the consolidation of identity in the post- independence period. Walton notes that “military action against ethnic insurgencies… has resulted in the institutionalisation of differential treatment”.121 Insurgency has been

115 Taylor, “Do States Make Nations? The Politics of Identity in Myanmar Revisited,” 264. 116 Rakhine Muslim Mosque Leader, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 May, 2016. 117 Elliott Prasse-Freeman, “The Rohingya Crisis,” Anthropology Today 33, no. 6 (2017): 2. 118 J. A. Berlie, The Burmanization of Myanmar's Muslims (Bangkok: White Lotus, 2008), xi. 119 Walton, “The “Wages of Burman-Ness:” Ethnicity and Burman Privilege in Contemporary Myanmar,” 11. 120 Ibid., 4. 121 Ibid., 6. 131 a nationwide phenomenon and dozens of ethnic armed groups have spent decades resisting the state from the borderlands.

There has been an intermittent history of insurgency from Rohingya in northern Rakhine State. Insurgency from Rohingya communities, however, has been weak and plagued by division. A Rohingya “Mujahid” rebellion began in 1948.122 The insurgency was framed in religious terms, notes Smith – “they pledged themselves ready to begin battle for an Islamic state”.123 There were an estimated 2000 to 5000 active Mujahid fighters.124 While Rohingya leaders appealed to the Mujahid to put down their arms, they shared a vision for northern Arakan – an autonomous Muslim region, not apart from Burma, yet not run by the Arakanese majority.125 This was the aforementioned Mayu Frontier, which was established in 1961. Initially the Mujahid targeted Arakanese Buddhist communities rather than the government,126 suggesting communal tensions were still forefront – this was less than a decade after World War Two and the communal violence of 1942.

In 1948, the Mujahid made five claims upon the Burmese government: to declare the Akyab District an autonomous “Free Muslim State” under the sovereignty of Burma; recognise Urdu as the language of the state; establish independent schools; release prisoners; and to grant legal status to the Mujahid movement.127 They received no response from Rangoon. With various insurgencies across the country, Arakan was not a priority for the government until 1951.128 By 1954 a major government offensive had killed key Mujahid leaders, and the total force was reduced to approximately 300, many

122 Members of other Muslim communities have also joined insurgencies. Some members of the Panthay community have joined Kokang and Wa insurgencies. Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 6. The short-lived Kawthoolei Muslim Liberation Front was briefly active in Karen National Union territory in the 1980s. Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 400. 123 Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 87. 124 Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar. 125 Ibid., 38. 126 Ibid., 37. 127 Ibid., 40. 128 Ibid., 38. 132 of them irregulars with farms to maintain.129 Most remaining Mujahid rebels surrendered in 1961 and the resistance that continued subsequently was limited. 130

Rohingya insurgency began again under military rule. None of the Rohingya insurgencies have been organised well, and presented a minimal threat to the Tatmadaw.131 In 1963 the Rohingya Independence Front, later the Rohingya Patriotic Front (RPF), was established.132 The Rohingya Solidarity Organisation (RSO) split from the more moderate RPF in 1982.133 The two joined to establish the Arakan Rohingya National Organisation (ARNO) in 1998, but the Arakan Rohingya Islamic Front and two RSO factions splintered away from ARNO in 2000.134 ARNO abandoned its arms in 2004. At the time of research, while the RSO was considered the most active Rohingya insurgency, it remained effectively “operationally defunct”.135 Furthermore, there appeared to be at least three RSO factions at the time of research. Only one faction was armed, and ARNO maintained no links at that time to the RSO according to ARNO leaders in Bangladesh.136 Insurgency was to rise again in 2016 with the emergence of the Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA), which had been quietly organising since 2012.137

A leader of ARNO, now a non-armed political organisation, said that after September 2001 and the attacks on the World Trade Centre armed resistance was not practical as the government could increasingly justify extra-lethal force against “Islamic terrorists”.138 Despite widespread rumours, any links between Rohingya insurgents and transnational terrorist networks remained minimal at the time of research. These allegations are used by Naypyidaw, international terrorist organisations and other

129 Ibid., 44-45. 130 Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 194. 131 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 16. 132 Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 219. 133 Elliot Brennan and Christopher O'Hara, “The Rohingya and Islamic Extremism: A Convenient Myth,” (Institute for Security and Development Policy, 15 June, 2015), 1, http://www.isdp.eu/publications/policy-briefs.html?task=showbib&id=6642&return=. 134 Curtis Lambrecht, “Burma (Myanmar),” in Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia: A Contemporary Sourcebook, ed. Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006), 28. 135 Brennan and O'Hara, “The Rohingya and Islamic Extremism,” 1. 136 ARNO Political Leader and Writer, interview, Chittagong, Bangladesh, 24 April, 2016. 137 ICG, “Myanmar's Rohingya Crisis Enters a Dangerous New Phase,” (Brussells: International Crisis Group, 7 December, 2017), 1, https://www.crisisgroup.org/asia/south-east-asia/myanmar/292- myanmars-rohingya-crisis-enters-dangerous-new-phase. 138 ARNO Leader, interview, Chittagong, Bangladesh, 25 April, 2016. 133 domestic groups to suit their own interests.139 For example, several Muslims were charged in 2015 with joining a radical Islamic organisation that observers suspect does not exist.140 Unestablished claims that Rohingya insurgents may have ties to international terror networks have been labelled “dangerous and irresponsible”; and a Myanmar social activist warned that “spreading such an idea in Myanmar is a killing license”.141

4.3.2 Muslims under Military Rule Under military rule, the Bamar Buddhist conception of the nation overshadowed religious minorities’ own worship.142 During the 1970s and 1980s, there were “various ‘de-Islamization’ processes” in central Myanmar, during which many mosques were destroyed.143 The government suspected religious minorities of having loyalties to outside powers and working to destroy the state, a belief rooted in a strong sense of the nationalist slogan, “to be Burmese is to be Buddhist”.144 It played on these fears to shore up its own support.145 A former government minister claims that there existed “‘an unwritten policy’ to get rid of Muslims, Christians, Karens and other ethnic peoples, in that order”.146 Observers have frequently noted that tensions between Buddhist and Muslim communities have been encouraged by the government’s xenophobic policies.147 Under subsequent authoritarian regimes, Muslims and other minorities were

139 Brennan and O'Hara, “The Rohingya and Islamic Extremism,” 2. 140 Carlos Sardiña Galache and Veronica Pedrosa, “In Myanmar, Muslims Arrested for Joining Terror Group That Doesn't Exist,” The Intercept, 25 May 2015, https://theintercept.com/2015/05/25/myanmar-muslims-arrested-joining-terror-group-doesnt-exist/. 141 Matthew Schissler, Matthew J Walton, and Phyu Phyu Thi, “M.MAS Working Paper: Threat and Virtuous Defence: Listening to Narratives of Religious Conflict in Six Myanmar Cities,” (Myanmar Media and Society Project, 22 July, 2015), 19, https://www.sant.ox.ac.uk/sites/default/files/m.mas_working_paper_1.1_- _threat_and_virtuous_defence_-_july_2015.pdf. 142 Christina Fink, Living Silence: Burma under Military Rule (London, New York: Zed Books, 2001), 226. 143 Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 50-51. 144 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 4. 145 Fink, Living Silence: Burma under Military Rule, 225. 146 Gregory B. Poling, “Separating Fact from Fiction About Myanmar's Rohingya,” Centre for Strategic and International Studies, 13 February 2014, https://csis.org/publication/separating-fact-fiction-about- myanmars-rohingya. 147 See, for example, Mikael Gravers, “Politically Engaged Buddhism: Spiritual Politics or Nationalist Medium?,” in Burma/Myanmar: Where Now?, ed. Mikael Gravers and Flemming Ytzen (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2014), 311; Robert H. Taylor, “Myanmar in 2012: Mhyaw Ta Lin Lin or Great Expectations,” 134 prohibited from rising through the ranks of the military and bureaucracy. Shortly after the coup of 1962, the military government nationalised all businesses. Indians, dominant in the economy, suffered under this policy. Approximately 300,000 foreigners, many of them Indian, left the country.148 The rhetoric has also been discriminatory. In 2009, Myanmar’s senior official in Hong Kong described the Rohingya as “as ugly as ogres”.149 Rohingya were subjected to severe restrictions on movement, with some confined to travelling within two miles from their home.150 During military rule, Buddhist settler villages were created on land confiscated from Rohingya.151 All of this pointed to xenophobia and particularly a deep resentment of the Rohingya by the military rulers. Rohingya were increasingly pushed out of Myanmar’s political community.

In 1978, the Burmese military launched the Nagamin (“Dragon King”) operation, ostensibly to check identification cards. The brutality and murder involved saw 200,000 Rohingya flee to Bangladesh.152 The military blamed the unrest on Muslim extremists and armed “Bengalis”. Following an international outcry, and Bangladesh’s accusations of genocide,153 most were able to return to Myanmar, although often under no UN oversight. Upon return many found that their land had been given to Buddhists.154 In 1991, Smith noted that Buddhist-Muslim relations were “still extremely tense” in Rakhine State.155

Southeast Asian Affairs 2013 (2013): 201; Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 50. 148 “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 40. 149 AFP, ““Ugly as Ogres”: Burmese Envoy Insults Refugees,” The World Post, 14 March 2009, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/02/11/ugly-as-ogres-burmese-env_n_166159.html. 150 Eric Tagliacozzo, “Burmese and Muslim: Islam and the Hajj in the Sangha State,” in Burmese Lives: Ordinary Life Stories under the Burmese Regime, ed. Win-Chin Chang and Eric Tagliacozzo (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 94. 151 Francis Wade, “West Bank of the East: Burma’s Social Engineering Project,” Los Angeles Review of Books, 7 November 2015, https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/west-bank-of-the-east-burmas-social- engineering-project/. 152 Martin Smith and Annie Allsebrook, “Ethnic Groups in Burma: Development, Democracy and Human Rights,” (London: Anti-Slavery International, 1994), 55, http://www.ibiblio.org/obl/docs3/Ethnic_Groups_in_Burma-ocr.pdf. 153 Robert H. Taylor, “The Legal Status of Indians in Contemporary Burma,” in Indian Communities in Southeast Asia, ed. K.S. Sandhu and A. Mani (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2006 (1993)), 671. 154 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 13. 155 Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 241. 135

Devastatingly for the Rohingya, the 1982 Citizenship Law replaced the previous 1948 law and restricted citizenship foremost to taing-yintha. The 1948 Union Citizenship Act automatically considered people as citizens if; both parents belong to the national races; one grandparent belongs to the national races; or if four grandparents settled in Myanmar, and both parents and the individual were born in Myanmar. Citizenship could also be obtained under the 1948 law if the individual had lived in Myanmar for five years, and met certain other criteria.156

It has been said that today under the 1982 law Myanmar “has some of the most extreme citizenship laws in the world”.157 Under the law there are three categories of citizenship; citizen, associate citizen and naturalised citizen. The government published a list of 135 official taing-yintha groups, from which the Rohingya were excluded. This confirmed many Rohingya as stateless. The category of “Citizenship” is foremost for taing-yintha. The national races “as have settled in any of the territories included within the State as their permanent home from a period anterior to 1185 B.E., 1823 A.D., are Burma citizens”,158 providing they were born prior to 15 October 1982. Additionally, those born of parents, at least one of whom falls into the category of Citizenship, will also fall into this category. Finally, the third generation of “Associate” or “Naturalised” citizens are recognised in the category of Citizenship by this act. “Associate Citizenship” is given to those who were granted citizenship under the 1948 act before the 1982 law was introduced.159 The final category, “Naturalised Citizenship”, is reserved for those who settled in Myanmar before independence (4 January 1948), providing they have paperwork showing this. Foreigners who marry any category of citizen also fall into this bracket, providing other conditions are met. Also included are children of such couples, and children who do not satisfy the criteria to be included in the “Citizenship” category, on account of their parents’ citizenship type. In addition to meeting these criteria, naturalised citizens must also be aged 18 or above, be able to speak one of the national

156 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 10. 157 Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 37. 158 Cited in Robert H. Taylor, “Refighting Old Battles, Compounding Misconceptions: The Politics of Ethnicity in Myanmar Today,” (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2 March, 2015), 7, https://www.iseas.edu.sg/images/pdf/ISEAS_Perspective_2015_12.pdf. 159 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 46; The Working People's Daily, “Translation of the Speech by General Ne Win,” The Working People's Daily, 9 October 1982, http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs6/Ne_Win%27s_speech_Oct-1982-Citizenship_Law.pdf. 136 languages well, and be of good character and “sound mind”. On account of the various colours of the “Citizenship Scrutiny Cards” (CSCs), citizenship cards are often called pink cards, associate citizenship cards blue cards, and naturalised citizenship cards green cards.

In remote areas, such as Rakhine State, many failed to apply for citizenship under the 1948 law. This was due to their remoteness, or a lack of literacy and understanding of the procedure.160 Those who did not hold citizenship, for whatever reason, were issued National Registration Cards (NRCs). Some Rohingya held these cards, but often did not. The introduction of the 1982 Citizenship Law complicated the situation for those who are not taing-yintha; including Rohingya, Indians and Chinese in Myanmar. A 1989 citizenship inspection process replaced NRCs with pink cards for those deemed to be citizens. The ICG reports, however, that the “majority of Rakhine Muslims surrendered their NRCs, but were never issued with CSCs”, an “arbitrary deprivation of citizenship”, which left them stateless.161 The law has also been applied arbitrarily, to the discrimination of Rohingya. For instance, when Rohingya leave northern Rakhine for Yangon, Bangladesh or elsewhere their names are taken off the family list – the effect is to wipe any memory of them from the state. This makes it very difficult for them to prove they were not an illegal immigrant from Bangladesh if they return.

From 1995 Temporary Registration Certificates (“white cards”) were issued to many Muslims in Rakhine.162 Although these cards were intended to be temporary, they remained recognised until 2015, when they were revoked. The Moe Pwint project began in 2011 and involved the issuance of some 3.5 million citizenship cards to those without documents by 2013.163 Many Rohingya faced challenges in receiving the cards, however. There was little trust in the state to respect what paper work Rohingya did submit due

160 Khin Maung Kyi, “Indians in Burma: Problems of an Alien Subculture in a Highly Integrated Society,” 657; Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 29. 161 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 11. 162 Ibid. 163 San Yamin Aung, “'Smarter' National ID Cards in the Pipeline,” The Irrawaddy, 20 September 2013, https://www.irrawaddy.com/news/burma/smarter-national-id-cards-pipeline.html. 137 to fears it would be confiscated, and there was little understanding of the process involved.164

In late 1991 and early 1992, approximately 250,000 Rohingya refugees again arrived in Bangladesh;165 following another military operation in northern Rakhine State, during which the Tatmadaw “confiscated Muslim land for their camps and for agriculture to provide for their food, levied arbitrary taxes, and imposed forced labour on the villagers”.166 HRW describes the situation as such: “The Burmese army slashed and burned its way through villages, killing hundreds and forcing a new outflow of refugees”.167 All but 28,000 were eventually repatriated to Myanmar,168 although questions remain on how voluntary the repatriation was.169

The operations of the Tatmadaw in northern Rakhine State were similar to operations in other ethnic areas of Myanmar, although the brutality levelled against the Rohingya was evidently of a greater intensity. A Rohingya man interviewed for this study, who previously served as a captain in the Tatmadaw in Rakhine State, described how they commonly received orders to make what he referred to as “no man on land” – to destroy all villages in the vicinity with no regard for human life.170 “Rohingya were systematically persecuted”, he argued, and cited extra-judicial killings of Rohingya civilians by security forces.171 He recalls that military leaders would tell Rohingya that they did not view them as people.172 When this captain later was transferred to serve in Kayin State, he would receive the same “no man on land” scorched earth orders.173 These activities against ethnic insurgents and communities suspected of supporting them have been well

164 Kayleigh Long, “Northern Rakhine Facing Major Political Shake-Up,” Myanmar Times, 15 September 2015, https://www.mmtimes.com/national-news/16481-northern-rakhine-facing-major-political-shake- up.html. 165 UNHCR, “UNHCR Global Report: Special Programme: Myanmar/Bangladesh Repatriation and Reintegration Operation,” (United Nations High Commission for Refugees, 1999), http://www.unhcr.org/3e2d4d617.pdf. 166 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 5. 167 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 15. 168 Trevor Wilson, “Burma: Does International Attention Make a Difference for the Rohingya?,” Asia Rights, 28 October 2012, http://asiapacific.anu.edu.au/blogs/asiarights/2012/10/28/burma-does- international-attention-make-a-difference-for-the-rohingya/. 169 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 16. 170 Former Tatamdaw Captain, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 23 February, 2016. 171 Ibid. 172 Ibid. 173 Ibid. 138 documented in eastern Myanmar and are known as the “four cuts” policy; to reduce access to food, funds, recruits and information. The use of rape and sexual violence against minorities across the country has been well documented.

Under military rule there were also occasions of communal violence in which Muslim communities across the country were targeted. In July 1988, anti-Muslim violence arrived on the streets of Taunggyi and other towns.174 In 1997 anti-Muslim incidents occurred in Mandalay, during which monks vandalised mosques and desecrated Korans.175 Unrest was also reported in Taungoo, Pyay, Mawlamyine, and Pyinmana.176 Again, in 2001 groups of Buddhists attacked Muslim communities in Taungoo, Pyay, Bago and Sittwe.177 In 2006, fatal anti-Muslim violence was also reported in various towns of Magwe Division.178 Monks have often been involved.179 Ashin Wirathu was jailed in the early 2000s for instigating anti-Muslim violence.180

There has been speculation that the occurrence of such incidents under military rule was orchestrated by the government or pro-government parties to direct popular discontent away from the military government and towards Muslim communities.181 The 1988 violence in Taunggyi occurred at the peak of anti-government protests that year. The spark was the distribution of pamphlets of alleged Muslim authorship, encouraging Muslim men to marry Buddhist women, a recurring concern of the Buddhist

174 Fink, Living Silence: Burma under Military Rule, 225; Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 3. 175 Matthews, “The Legacy of Tradition and Authority: Buddhism and the Nation in Myanmar,” 39, 50. 176 HRW, “The Resistance of the Monks,” 62. 177 “Crackdown on Burmese Muslims,” (Washington DC, USA: Human Rights Watch, 2002), 1, https://www.hrw.org/legacy/backgrounder/asia/burmese_muslims.pdf. 178 Human Rights Documentation Unit of the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma, “Burma Human Rights Year Book 2006,” (Human Rights Documentation Unit of the National Coalition Government of the Union of Burma, 2007), 535, http://www.ibiblio.org/obl/docs4/HRDU2006- CD/religion.html; US Embassy Yangon, “Communal Riots in Magwe Division,” (22 February: US Embassy Cable, 2006). 179 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 10; Egreteau, “Burmese Indians in Contemporary Burma: Heritage, Influence and Perceptions since 1988,” 50. 180 Nirmal Ghosh, “Buddhism's Right-Wing Face in Myanmar,” The Straits Times, 30 March 2015, http://www.stasiareport.com/the-big-story/asia-report/myanmar/story/buddhisms-right-wing-face- myanmar-20150330. 181 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 10; Lambrecht, “Burma (Myanmar),” 27; Lintner, Outrage: Burma's Struggle for Democracy, 195; Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 3. 139 nationalist movement.182 While some monks may have been co-opted to take part, it appears that many did so voluntarily.183 As a result of the clashes, the government introduced emergency measures, including a ban on public gatherings.184 Selth argues that it is difficult to see how such incidents of anti-Muslim violence could occur without the government’s knowledge that it was imminent, given the high levels of surveillance in Myanmar during that period.185 Furthermore, authorities were often accused of doing little to stop the violence, or even encouraging and participating in it. This contrasted sharply to the military’s heavy-handed response to anti-government protests.

A Rohingya political leader in Sittwe Township said that by the 2000s, there was no law and order for Rohingya in Rakhine State. Rakhine could assault Rohingya with impunity, something he said was increasingly true in the few years before 2012.186 Security forces were said to side with Rakhine in everyday disputes, and took no action against those committing violence towards Muslims.187 Muslims faced disproportionate discrimination on travel and law enforcement. It was very difficult for Muslims to travel outside of their township, and bribes were demanded.188 Violence between communities was common. If in the wrong part of town at night, Rohingya were afraid that they would be found by “Rakhine extremists”, who would beat them and “call us kula”.189 The fears were mutual. One Maramargyi respondent noted that the relationship between communities in the past was “difficult”, and that he was always worried about being attacked by Muslims as he crossed predominantly Muslim

182 Fink, Living Silence: Burma under Military Rule, 225. Muslim men marrying Buddhist women and converting them to Islam is perceived as a demographic threat, and rumours are spread that the conversion involves stamping on a picture of the Buddha. The story was also frequently included in hate speech spread during democratic transition. Ibid.; Ghosh, “Buddhism's Right-Wing Face.” 183 Matthews, “The Legacy of Tradition and Authority: Buddhism and the Nation in Myanmar,” 39. 184 Lintner, Outrage: Burma's Struggle for Democracy, 195. 185 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 10. 186 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 187 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 188 Ibid. 189 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015; Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 140 neighbourhoods to return home each evening.190 Discrimination intensified under the watch of General Khin Nyunt, who heavily restricted the movements of Rohingya.191

In the post-independence period Muslims increasingly faced persecution. This was particularly true for Rohingya, but across the country the place of Muslims in the national community was questioned. This was due in large part to the increasing co- optation of Buddhism by the state and the alignment of religion and national identity. The Rohingya did not fit into this conception of the nation and their persecution, particularly in the period after the 1970s, reflects efforts by the state to define them as outsiders. Military operations regularly removed the Rohingya from the boundaries of the nation by force. The emergence of the taing-yintha framework hardened conceptions of the nation to the exclusion of the Rohingya. Violence, both in the form of insurgency and communal violence assisted in the consolidation of exclusive forms of national and communal identities.

4.4 Bamar-Kula? Today, it is very difficult to separate ethnic from religious identities in Myanmar. When asked their ethnicity it is common for Myanmar Muslims to reply with their religion,192 although this also reflects the fact that the Myanmar term usually translated into English as “ethnicity” (lumyo) is perhaps better translated literally as “person-type”. This conception of identity is reflected in this study via the use of a broad definition of communal identity. This is just one way in which the language that respondents in this research used indicated the links between ethnicity and religion in Myanmar. The use of language reflected relations between religious communities, and their relation to Myanmar state and broader society. Respondents from both Buddhist and Muslim communities (outside of Rakhine State) frequently used the word Bamar to refer to Buddhist communities. This is despite the fact that Buddhists in Myanmar represent a

190 Maramargyi Man (40yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. The Maramargyi are a predominantly Buddhist ethnic community in Rakhine State. 191 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 192 KHRG, “Hpapun Interview: U a---, July 2013,” (Karen Human Rights Group, 18 August, 2014), http://www.khrg.org/2014/08/13-69-a1-i1/hpapun-interview-u-july-2013; The Republic of the Union of Myanmar, “Final Report,” 55. 141 variety of ethnicities beyond the majority Bamar. Typically, Muslims were referred to as kula by many Buddhist respondents or simply as Muslim by Muslim respondents.

Myanmar Muslims have been known by various names, including Pathi, kula and zerbadee. While Selth notes that these names are typically disliked by Myanmar Muslims, due to the implication that they are not truly Myanmar because of their religion,193 Pathi was suggested as an identity marker by some Myanmar Muslims before the 2014 census,194 and some Myanmar Muslims today retain the Pathi name.195 Zerbadee was a term usually used to refer to children of mixed Indian Muslim and Buddhist marriages,196 but is not commonly used today. The meaning or origin of kula is frequently questioned and there is discussion over whether it is a pejorative term. During the course of this research, numerous Muslim and Hindu respondents noted that they felt it had a pejorative meaning, something also found by Nyi Nyi Kyaw.197 At the very least, the use of the word kula infers that the person is not truly Myanmar. It is a term usually used to refer to people from the Indian subcontinent, but is also used to refer to Muslims of Chinese or Myanmar heritage. Kula is also used as a root word for several longer words for items which came to Myanmar from the subcontinent, in which contexts it holds no pejorative meaning.198

The terms Bamar and kula may have been used by respondents in this research for the sake of convenience. In social interactions, however, language is important. Choice of language not only reflects but also constructs social realties. Referring to the Buddhist community as Bamar also infers that all Bamar are Buddhist. Therefore, if one is of a different religion, they cannot be accepted as Bamar, or even perhaps as Myanmar.

193 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 6. 194 Melissa Crouch, “Myanmar's Muslim Mosaic and the Politics of Belonging,” New Mandala, 4 November 2014, http://asiapacific.anu.edu.au/newmandala/2014/11/04/myanmars-muslim-mosaic- and-the-politics-of-belonging/. 195 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Muslim Minorities in Transitional Societies: Different Myanmar Muslims Groups' Different Experiences in Transition,” in Burma/Myanmar in Transition: Connectivity, Changes and Challenges (Chiang Mai University: International Conference on Burma/Myanmar Studies, 2015), 11. Burmese Muslim Community Leader, interview, 12 July, 2016. 196 Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 33-34. 197 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Alienation, Discrimination, and Securitization: Legal Personhood and Cultural Personhood of Muslims in Myanmar,” The Review of Faith and International Affairs 13, no. 4 (2015): 56. 198 For more information see Kenneth Wong, 24 April, 2017, http://kennethwongsf.blogspot.com.au/2017/04/opening-can-of-worms-in-burmese.html. 142

From the perspectives of many Myanmar Muslims – who consider themselves to be both Bamar and Myanmar – the use of these words in this way is a slight against them. It infers that Muslims cannot be taing-yintha or are not truly Myanmar. It also illustrates the entrenched religious and ethnic categories in Myanmar and the close link between religion and ethnicity for many people.

4.5 Rohingya Identity There is great deal of controversy surrounding the usage of the term “Rohingya”. In general, the international community, including media and human rights groups, accept the term. In Myanmar, however, the term is generally condemned and Muslims in Rakhine State are more commonly known as “Bengali”. This is due in large part to the fact that Rohingya are not recognised as taing-yintha, and the widespread use of the word “Bengali” to refer to the Rohingya reflects a state-backed belief that they are recent immigrants from Bangladesh. Cowley and Maung Zarni perceive Bengali as “a racist local reference”, which helps to colour Rohingya as illegal immigrants who threaten national security, “a portrayal that the bulk of the Burmese have accepted as a fact over the past five decades”.199

The earliest recorded use of the term Rohingya was in 1799, by a surgeon with the British East India Company, Francis Buchanan. Buchanan recorded a community of “Mohammedans, who have long settled in Arakan, and who called themselves Rooingya”.200 This is commonly cited to show that Rohingya is an “ancient” ethnic category. Leider, however, does not agree that this source indicates an ethnic category. Instead, he argues that Buchanan’s “Rooingya” is a reference to geographical location. According to Leider, the name “Rohingya” is derived from “the Indianized form of Rakhine, i.e. Rakhanga”.201 In Leider’s own words; “When there is hardly any evidence

199 Cowley and Maung Zarni, “The Slow-Burning Genocide of Myanmar's Rohingya,” 685. 200 Francis Buchanan, “A Comparative Vocabulary of Some of the Languages Spoken in the Burma Empire,” SOAS Bulletin of Burma Research 1, no. 1 (2003 (1799)): 55. italics in original. 201 Leider, “Rohingya: The Name, the Movement and the Quest for Identity,” 219. Berlie suggests instead that the origins of the term may be derived from ‘Rohang’, or ‘Ram’, the name for Arakan in ancient Arabic. Berlie, The Burmanization of Myanmar's Muslims, 9. In contrast, Yegar thought that the term means “the dear ones” or “the compassionate ones”. Yegar, The Muslims of Burma: A Study of a Minority Group, 25. 143 and the context so little understood, interpretation becomes a matter of speculation rather than reasoning”.202

The debate over the term Rohingya is tied into the contested history of the Muslim community of northern Rakhine State. Leider defines the Rohingya as “a political and militant movement”.203 According to this argument, the identity has its origins in the late 1940s and 1950s, and the movement to form the Mayu Frontier. Leider views this identity “not as a fixed category, but as a recent process that is still in the move”.204 Similarly, Rakhine nationalist and scholar Aye Chan argues that the first usage of “Rohingya” was in the early 1950s, by “a few Bengali intellectuals”.205 Likewise, Taylor states that Rohingya “is a term never heard of prior to the late 1950s”,206 and notes that it “developed into a claim to establish a separate ethnicity with political rights”.207 The evidence provided by these scholars is used to indicate that the Rohingya migrated from Bengal during the British period – thus excluding them from “national race” recognition. Indeed, the term was never used in colonial records, or the 1931 census.208 The government of Myanmar firmly positions itself on this side of the debate. Former President Thein Sein has said that “there are no Rohingya among the races” of Myanmar.209 “We do not accept the term ‘Rohingya’ which has never existed in the country’s history” a President’s Office statement reads, positing that the “term has been maliciously used by a group of people with a wider political agenda”.210

Like other border communities in Myanmar, the Rohingya share cultural and linguistic characteristics with communities across Myanmar’s borders. Lewa notes that “the

202 Leider, “Rohingya: The Name, the Movement and the Quest for Identity,” 222. 203 Ibid., 208. 204 Ibid. 205 Aye Chan, “The Development of Muslim Enclave in Arakan (Rakhine) State of Burma,” in Influx Viruses: The Illegal Muslims in Rakhine State, ed. U Shaw Zan & Aye Chan (New York: Arakanese in United States, 2005), 21. 206 Taylor, “Myanmar in 2012: Mhyaw Ta Lin Lin or Great Expectations,” 201. 207 “Book Review: The Burmanization of Myanmar's Muslims,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 41, no. 1 (2010): 176. 208 “Myanmar in 2012: Mhyaw Ta Lin Lin or Great Expectations,” 201. 209 APHR, “The Rohingya Crisis,” 4. 210 Tim McLaughlin, “Un's Ban Ki Moon Links Rohingya-Crisis to Reform's Stalling,” Mizzima, 13 November 2014, http://archive-3.mizzima.com/mizzima-news/rohingya-issues/item/14711-un-s-ban-ki- moon-links-rohingya-crisis-to-reforms-stalling/14711-un-s-ban-ki-moon-links-rohingya-crisis-to-reforms- stalling. 144

Rohingya Muslims are ethnically and religiously related to the Chittagonians of southern Bangladesh”.211 Although there is little consensus on its linguistic origins, the Rohingya language is distinct. It has been called a unique dialect related to Chittagonian.212 Yegar describes it as a mixture of Rakhine, Bengali and Urdu.213 It is a distinctive mix of Bengali, Burmese, Hindi and English, according to Smith.214 He argues that the fact that this language is unique shows that the Muslim community of northern Rakhine State has become distinct.215 Indeed, if the linguistic connection to ethnicity is used as a standard (as it was by the British in their construction of many of today’s taing-yintha), then the Rohingya can certainly be called an ethnic category.

While it is certain that the Muslim community of Rakhine State has deep historic roots, some Rohingya did arrive during the colonial period,216 although it is not clear how permanent this migration was or the exact numbers of arrivals. In regards to post- independence migration to Rakhine State, Myanmar political analyst Khin Zaw Win has noted that “illegal immigration would make up only a small percentage of the present community living in Northern Rakhine State”.217 The history of fluid borders, large-scale migration from the 17th century as documented by Charney, Buchannan’s note, and the linguistic factor all indicate that the existence of a Muslim community in northern Rakhine State cannot be labelled a recent phenomenon derived from the British period.

The revival of the use of the term Rohingya by that community in the post-independence period should be understood at least in part as a result of particular political institutions raised by the modern Myanmar state. The category of Rohingya is used to legitimise political claims within the contexts of the 1982 Citizenship Law and a political system in

211 Lewa 2002, cited in Leider, “Rohingya: The Name, the Movement and the Quest for Identity,” 215. 212 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 13, 46. 213 Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar, 51. 214 Martin Smith, “The Muslim Rohingya of Burma,” Arakan Rohingya National Organisation, 11 October 2006, http://www.rohingya.org/portal/index.php/rohingya-library/26-rohingya-history/75-the-muslim- rohingya-of-burma.html. 215 Ibid. 216 Yegar, Between Integration and Secession: The Muslims Communities of the Southern Philippines, Southern Thailand, and Western Burma/Myanmar, 27, 95; Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 7. 217 Khin Zaw Win, “Mudding through in Rakhine Is Not Enough,” Tea Circle, 11 September 2017, https://teacircleoxford.com/2017/09/11/muddling-through-in-rakhine-is-not-enough/. 145 which claims for membership must be made on an ethnic basis. The literature which views Rohingya not as an ethnic group but as a “political” identity neglects contemporary knowledge on ethnicity. As stressed by the earlier chapters of this thesis, identity is constructed – often in reaction to political institutions – and all ethnic identities in Myanmar hold some political meaning. In this way, Rohingya identity is no different from any other contemporary identity in Myanmar today. The Rohingya’s exclusion from the taing-yintha regime should be understood as symptomatic of a dangerous ethno-nationalistic nation building project by a xenophobic regime.

4.6 Contemporary Rakhine Grievances This section will make some comments on contemporary Rakhine grievances. The concerns of this predominantly Buddhist community are crucial to this thesis as the Rakhine community have been central to the conflict in Rakhine State and their perspectives will need to be taken into account in order to resolve the conflict. The data for this section was collected in Rakhine State between 2015 and 2016, after the violence under investigation. While questions refer to longer-term Rakhine concerns, responses reflect the post-violence situation. To solve this problem, primary data is complemented by earlier secondary sources, although these are limited. The greatest concerns for Rakhine elites and community members were related to the linked issues of land and federalism. These are concerns about the future and reflect fears of threats to Rakhine identity and self-determination. There are perceived to be two related threats to both Rakhine land and a federal Rakhine State: the Muslim population, and the Myanmar government.

A Rakhine Sayadaw summarised these perceived dual threats:

Rakhine land had been occupied first by the Burmese, for approximately 40 years, then the British for approximately 100 years, then the Japanese for 3 years. Now the biggest issue is the Muslims trying to occupy our land. We have

146

no chance for self-determination. If we want to solve this issue, we need federalism.218

The Sayadaw further noted that Rakhine State needed federalism for the rule of law to be achieved, and so that communities could live alongside each other, but only after determining citizenship issues for Muslim communities.219 A Rakhine political leader noted that land was the biggest issue in Rakhine State, and that power must be decentralized, “for our ethnicity”. He noted his belief that “The Rakhine people came here 3026 years ago… This kingdom and people had a very high civilization, but are under Burmese colonisation. We still have no self-determination. This is the absolute issue”.220 An ANP representative in the Rakhine State Hluttaw noted that the biggest issues for Rakhine State were the “Bengali immigration issue, resource sharing and confiscated land issues”.221 He argued that decentralization of power was essential “for the survival of us [Rakhine]”, as “Rakhine State doesn’t enjoy its share of revenue, and does not have very much say in the administration of its own affairs”.222 Indeed, since independence there has been extremely little development in Rakhine State, notes Smith, “only a steady regression in the quality of roads, transport, housing, education, employment and life in general”.223 This politician expressed his low hopes for Naypyidaw and noted; “Rakhine is at their mercy”.224 Religion is highly politicised in Rakhine State. Buddhist Sasana flags are seen at political rallies where Sayadaw share the podium with politicians. Rakhine academic Khin Maung Saw emphasises that the Buddhist religion is an integral part of Rakhine identity, stating that “[a]ll Arakanese (Rakhaings) were and are devout Buddhists”.225 The next sections outline these perceived threats to Rakhine identity from Muslim communities and from the Myanmar state.

218 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 219 Chakravarti, The Indian Minority in Burma: The Rise and Decline of an Immigrant Community. 220 Rakhine Minor Political Party Chairperson, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 221 ANP Parliamentarian, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 222 Ibid. 223 Smith, Burma: Insurgency and the Politics of Ethnicity, 244. 224 ANP Parliamentarian, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 225 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 132. 147

4.6.1 Muslim Threat Selth noted in 2003 that Rakhine Buddhists do not perceive the Muslim population “as a political or security threat, as much as an economic, social and cultural problem”.226 This may have changed by 2010 as the political situation altered and the Muslim population posed an electoral challenge for ethnic Rakhine political parties. In interviews for this research, the Muslim population was most often presented as a threat to the interests of the Rakhine community; in particular land and federalism. This is often framed as a demographic threat, and there are fears of a “hidden agenda” to Islamise or secede Rohingya-dominated areas from Rakhine State or from Myanmar. Like elsewhere in Myanmar, there is a strong belief among Rakhine communities that many Rohingya are in Rakhine State illegally. Those Rohingya who do hold citizenship documents, however, remain discriminated against on the basis of their religion or the fact that they, unlike Rakhine, are not taing-yintha. Unlike elsewhere in Myanmar, respondents in Rakhine State generally did not identify the Rohingya community as a religious threat to Buddhism. Much of the debate has been framed in competing histories of the region, and debates over who constitute the real indigenous inhabitants of the area now known as Rakhine State.

A central part of what numerous respondents referred to as a Muslim “hidden agenda” or “master plan” is the Rohingya identity. A 2012 statement released by the ethno- nationalist RNDP refers to the “fabricated history” of the Rohingya.227 Many Rakhine view the Rohingya identity as an invented identity, and are opposed to the recognition of Rohingya people as an indigenous “national race” of Myanmar. There is a fear that if the Rohingya were recognised as an ethnic group, they would make further claims, which may come at the expense of Rakhine land. A Rakhine politician in Sittwe stated that “the Rohingya issue is the main problem” between Muslim and Rakhine people, as “kula making themselves Rohingya is a problem for our land”.228 “Rohingya people are

226 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 12. 227 HRW, ““All You Can Do Is Pray”,” 26-27. 228 Rakhine Minor Political Party Chairperson, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 148 not in the world, and not in Arakan history”, he argued.229 A prominent Rakhine human rights activist in Sittwe suggested that if the Muslim community wants to use the name Rohingya, it is no problem, but if they want to use the name to claim indigeneity, however, the Rakhine people and Myanmar government should be worried about the “hidden agenda” of Muslims in Rakhine and overseas.230 Khin Maung Saw summarises the view of many Rakhine, arguing that “the term “Rohingya” was “invented” for the sake of a political movement and to define a political movement used by the secessionists”.231 In particular, there is a concern that a recognised “Rohingya” ethnic group would want the re-creation of the 1960s Mayu Frontier. Among Rakhine communities, it is widely believed that religious and political leaders abroad support Muslims in Rakhine State to take over Rakhine land. It is said that Rohingya organisations based in Bangladesh are supported by international terrorist organisations. Rakhine leaders say that these groups have an agenda to Islamise Rakhine State, and call it Arakanistan, or Arkani. Khin Maung Saw’s book argues that the Rohingya “are still trying to Islamize Arakan and then the whole of Burma by all means”.232 This suspicion is extended to INGOS and the UN, who are suspected of supporting the Rohingya to the neglect of Rakhine.

A Sayadaw in a Sittwe monastery described how the Rohingya identity contributed to tensions between Rakhine and Muslims before 2012. The biggest issue between Rakhine and Muslims, he said, was that the Muslims have to realise that they are illegal immigrants. The relationship in the past was easier, he said, because Muslims were accepted as guests (èthe), and recognised the Rakhine as the hosts (einshin).233 A Rakhine politician stated this sentiment in different terms.

In my father’s generation, there was no problem between Rakhine and kula. Kula respected Rakhine at that time. That was because the Rakhine were the owners, and kula the servants. They were servant and owner. There was no problem between those people. The problems arose because some kula tried to

229 Ibid. 230 Rakhine Human Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 231 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 143. 232 Ibid., 107. 233 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 149

make their own self-determination in this land. They made the problem and their intention is simple. They want to be a recognised ethnicity.234

A Rakhine women’s rights activist in Sittwe explained that Rakhine people are afraid of the Rohingya identity, as it is a threat to Rakhine history. “Maybe they just want citizenship rights, or maybe they have more plans, I don’t know. As a human, we can understand that we want rights, and so do they. The fear is that they have a different view, and created a fake history.”235

As noted previously, both Rakhine and Rohingya histories of Rakhine State and the Arakan Kingdom exaggerate the role of their community at the expense of the other. This can be seen in the presence of the other community in each history. While Rohingya histories claim widespread Muslim influence on the Mrauk-U dynasty, Rakhine histories downplay any influence or Muslim presence. Some Rakhine leaders fear that if the Rohingya identity is accepted, this will legitimise the Rohingya version of history at the expense of the Rakhine version – a threat to Rakhine identity, their rich history and therefore their claim to the land. The Rohingya identity, supported by the spectre of powerful international Islamic forces, is then interpreted by the Rakhine as a serious threat to Rakhine interests on several fronts. A Rakhine Buddhist monk said that “the Rohingya name is very dangerous for the future of Rakhine State”.236

The 1942 violence between Muslim and Rakhine populations in Rakhine State is vividly remembered in Rakhine communities. Khin Maung Saw summarised it as “a blood bath of racial riots”, in which “Khawtaw Kalas were helped by the Muslim deserters of the British Indian Army”.237 He argues that the Muslims “vandalized, raped and slew… Khawtaw Kalas wanted to commit ethnic cleansing of the Rakhiangs (Arakanese) living in Maungdaw”.238

234 Rakhine Minor Political Party Chairperson, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 235 Rakhine Women's Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 236 Rakhine Buddhist Monk, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 237 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 113. 238 Ibid., 114. Memories of the 1942 violence remain polarised. Alam describes “a pogrom massacring about 1,00,000 innocent Rohingya Muslims, driving out 80,000 of them across the border to East Bengal, 150

There are also demographic concerns. A common Rakhine complaint against the Rohingya is that they have large families, posing a demographic threat. It is widely believed among Rakhine that the Muslim population is rapidly expanding – due both to a high birth-rate and illegal immigration from Bangladesh. While there is little data or evidence to substantiate these claims, they are deeply felt in Rakhine communities. In a March 2016 interview, Rakhine village administrators identified a demographic threat, and tied it to concerns about land, saying that “Muslims wanting to occupy Rakhine land” was their biggest concern. These narratives are also repeatedly situated in a gendered discourse.

The Muslim population is growing day-by-day. They influence our land. They want to occupy our land. They want to spread false news to the world, and say that Rakhine people are aggressive. They commit rape to our Rakhine girls. President Thein Sein doesn’t care about this. He gave full human rights to Muslims, including economic rights and education.239

In another Rakhine village, respondents noted that the growing population of Muslims was the main issue people were concerned about, due to the fact that Muslims were claiming Rakhine land.240 Similarly, the Rakhine politician argued that Muslims had been attempting to take Rakhine land for decades; “They were always trying to take our land, they were always trying to invade and occupy our land, their main objective is to become a higher population so that they can influence our land”.241 These concerns are repeatedly heard to relate to land, rather than a threat to race or religion. “Muslims try to create a conflict by occupying our land; land is a big issue here”, said the village leaders. These concerns have been dominant for decades, they noted, and said that in

devastating their settlements and depopulating the Muslims [sic]”. Alam, “A Short History of Arakan and Rohingyas.” 239 Rakhine Village Administrators, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 240 Rakhine Village Men (33yo & 58yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 241 Rakhine Minor Political Party Chairperson, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 151 that time “a lot of Muslims have attacked Rakhine houses, destroyed houses and harassed Rakhine girls in Maungdaw and Buthidaung”.242

It is feared that a Rohingya identity accepted by the state would open the door for land to be designated for the Muslim population, at the expense of Rakhine. Aside from this, citizenship for Muslims – either as Rohingya or otherwise – and the voting and political rights that accompany this, would pose a significant threat to Rakhine control of Rakhine State under any federal system. The Rakhine ethnic myth presents the Rakhine people as the rightful owners of Rakhine land. There would be stiff opposition to any power- sharing deal between Rakhine and Muslims under any federal system. The ethno- nationalist ANP successfully won the majority of seats in Rakhine State in the 2015 election – due in part to the fact that voting rights had been stripped from Rohingya.

While authors such as Khin Maung Saw and some activists in Sittwe argue that if the Muslim community abandoned the label “Rohingya” they would be welcome to citizenship (including Muslims who may have migrated as late as the 1970s),243 there are significant reasons to doubt this. Not least is a deep Islamophobia in their language. Khin Maung Saw charges that “‘Rohingyas’ are NOT “the world’s most persecuted minority”, instead the Rohingyarists are terrorists!! Behind the mask of the ‘Poor Rohingya Refugees’ there is a ‘crooked smile’ of Islamists”.244 Furthermore, Rohingya who have been granted citizenship under the nomenclature “Bengali” remain segregated from Rakhine and suffer the same restrictions as those who do not have citizenship,245 while Kaman also remain segregated despite their taing-yintha status. The Rohingya identity is widely opposed by Rakhine communities, and cannot be entirely separated from the concerns related to land, federalism and the demography as summarised above.

There is deep concern that the international community is focused on the conditions for Rohingya while neglecting Rakhine communities. While the needs of Rohingya may be

242 Rakhine Village Administrators, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 243 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 202; Rakhine Human Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 244 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 201. 245 Shibani Mahtani, “Myanmar’s Rohingya See Little Benefit from New Citizenship Effort,” The Wall Street Journal, 30 December 2014, https://www.wsj.com/articles/myanmar-rohingya-see-little-benefit- from-new-citizenship-effort-1419983854. 152 greater than that of Rakhine, both communities suffer poverty and low access to livelihoods and opportunities. These conditions, along with the continued under- representation of both communities in governance, contribute to the replication of conditions which foster conflict and violence.

4.6.2 Myanmar Threat From the perspective of many Rakhine elites and community members interviewed, the Myanmar government is another threat to Rakhine land and federalism and their interests more broadly. Like other ethnic minorities in Myanmar, the Rakhine have long been discontent with the centralised and oppressive rule of the Myanmar government.

The 1784 Burmese invasion of Rakhine is remembered in Rakhine communities into the present for the brutality levelled against the Rakhine, and the theft of the Maha Muni Buddha image, said to have been sculpted in the presence of the Buddha himself in Arakan. Khin Maung Saw writes that due to the theft, “the pride of Arakan was degraded”, and claims that some Rakhine still refer to the Burmese as the “Thugs of the Buddha Statue” up to the present time.246 “The Burmese totally forgot that they shared the same language, culture and the religion with the Arakanese, their conquest resulted in a complete destruction of Arakan and her people. The Burmese troops had a great amount of savagery in their disposition”, Khin Maung Saw further laments.247 The Arakanese Kingdom was abolished forever, and the Rakhine remember the occupation as a humiliation.

After the Burmese annexation of Arakan, the Arakanese (Rakhaings) in Arakan were tortured. The Burmese Royal Armies looted the colossal statue of Maha Muni from the Arakan City of Mrauk-U and they used the Arakanese prisoners of war, about thirty thousand including the last King of Arakan Maha Thamada, as slave labour to carry that colossal image across the mountain range and for other slavery works.248

246 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 101. 247 Ibid. 248 Ibid., 102. 153

Furthermore, during the First Anglo-Burmese War, the “Royal Burmese Army lead by the famous Field Marshal Maha Bandoola had a great amount of savagery and war crimes in Arakan [sic]”, Khin Maung Saw writes, “Maha Bandoola was the national hero for the Burmese but for the Arakanese he was noted as a barbaric warrior”.249 Today, Maha Bandoola is promoted as a Myanmar national hero – and many public places bear his name, including a main road and well-known public park in downtown Yangon.

Rakhine communities suffered discrimination and further lost control of their land under military rule. Land was confiscated by the military without compensation. Resource extraction projects gave little benefit to Rakhine communities, including under the USDP government. One Rakhine civil society organisation leader in Sittwe noted that this continues today.

Rakhine State has rich gas deposits, but Rakhine are not included in discussions or decisions about it. When they take it, Rakhine get no profits. We only get land confiscation and relocation. This is a big problem for Rakhine. There are many Chinese workers, but they only hire Rakhine for labouring.250

The most important and frequently mentioned resource project in Rakhine State during this period has been pipelines connecting oil and gas fields off the coast of Rakhine State to Kunming in China’s Yunnan Province. The 2008 deal with state-owned China National Petroleum Corp saw a gas pipeline, known as the Shwe Gas pipeline, become operational in 2013 and a crude oil pipeline become operational in April 2017. The pipeline has been incorporated into Beijing’s “One Belt One Road” policy and reduces China’s dependence on oil transported via the strategically vulnerable Malacca Strait.251 The project has been criticised in Myanmar for associated land confiscation and minimal benefits for local communities.

Like the rest of the country, Rakhine communities were historically subjected to travel restrictions under military rule (although not to the same extent as Rohingya), and

249 Ibid., 104. 250 Rakhine Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 251 Lucy Hornby, “China and Myanmar Open Long-Delayed Oil Pipeline,” Financial Times, 11 April 2017, https://www.ft.com/content/21d5f650-1e6a-11e7-a454-ab04428977f9. 154

Rakhine State fell from one of the wealthiest regions of the country to among the least advantaged today. Ethnic Rakhine and communist insurgencies were powerful across Rakhine State in the decades after independence. Ambitions for ethnic autonomy and federalism were long seen as a serious threat by Myanmar’s military rulers. Similarly, Rakhine communities perceive the Myanmar government as a threat to Rakhine identity and ethnic interests. The mistrust of the state found all over Myanmar is certainly present in Rakhine. “When one saw a uniform, we never thought it is a civil servant there to help people, but just an authority. People always had fear of authority”, noted a Rakhine women’s rights activist.252

Although the Burmese were “so cruel like savages” towards the Rakhine, Khin Maung Saw argues that the British were worse, as they planted “poisonous seeds on Arakan soil”: “Chittagonian Bengali Muslims”.253 This also reflects how Rakhine communities have viewed the Muslim population as a tool of their oppressors, both British and Myanmar. Indeed, a common refrain from Rakhine leaders was that the Myanmar government has attempted to channel Rakhine discontent with governance away from the central government and towards the Muslim communities. This is achieved through constructing the Rohingya as a greater and more urgent threat to Rakhine identity and interests. Rakhine and Rohingya are set against each other to compete for limited resources. As one civil society leader put it: “the Burmese government is playing the Muslim card, to play the Rakhine people”.254

Naypyidaw’s restrictions on travel for Muslims and the poor standards of education are perceived as part of a policy designed to breed discontent and tension between communities.255 While many Rakhine youth travel within Myanmar or overseas to take up employment, Muslims are largely confined to their townships, and travel outside of Rakhine State is out of the question for most. As a result the population of Muslims is much more visible than the Rakhine population. Extreme travel restrictions on Muslims

252 Rakhine Women's Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 253 Khin Maung Saw, Arakan, a Neglected Land and Her Voiceless People, 106-07. 254 Rakhine Women's Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 255 Rakhine Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 155 means they are confined to their townships in northern Rakhine State, on land which the Rakhine see as theirs. Due to the lack of rights and opportunities for Muslims, they will often work for less income than Rakhine people.256 They are then seen to be taking opportunities from Rakhine. Stories of Myanmar immigration officials accepting bribes from Bangladeshi nationals to gain entry to Myanmar are cited as proof of such government policy. Rakhine leaders suggest that the government’s objective has been to scapegoat Muslims for the poor economic and political conditions that Rakhine communities suffer.

An example of such divide and rule policies emerged before the 2010 elections. The USDP had offered the Rohingya citizenship rights in exchange for votes, in order to reduce the Rakhine parties’ electoral gains. White cards were distributed to 750,000 potential voters in northern Rakhine State. Six Rohingya USDP candidates won in Rakhine State, three at the national level and three at the state level, although the USDP did not deliver its promise of more rights. The ICG noted that the extension of voting rights to the Rohingya at the expense of Rakhine parties political success fuelled communal tensions in Rakhine, and contributed to the outbreak of violence in 2012.257 It also gave further weight to the perspective that Naypyidaw followed a divide and rule policy in Rakhine State, encouraged mistrust towards the Myanmar government, and increased support for ethnic Rakhine parties.

Deep mistrust towards the Rohingya and the Myanmar state are deeply entrenched in Rakhine communities. From the perspective of many Rakhine leaders, the government’s objective is to distract the Rakhine people from their exploitation and oppression at the hands of the Myanmar government. There is a strong sense of economic disempowerment behind resentment towards the central government. Despite widespread Rakhine opposition to the Myanmar government, however, police and armed forces’ “pogroms” against Rohingya have been supported by Rakhine Buddhists, as Selth has noted.258 In particular, there are serious concerns about the Rohingya

256 Rakhine Women's Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 257 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 6. 258 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 12. 156 identity and the perceived hostile elements behind it. Concerns of a Rohingya threat to Rakhine land, federalism and self-determination are widespread.

4.7 Conclusion This chapter has traced the process of identity formation before the period of democratic transition in Myanmar from 2010. The communal and national identities considered in this chapter were established and had become political identities before 2010. They were political in that they carried political meaning, concerned the state, or made claims on the state. Belonging to certain ethnic or religious categories guaranteed political access, while membership of others did not. Communities unrecognised by the state made claims for recognition, with varying degrees of success.

While communal identities held little political salience in the pre-colonial period, identities consolidated under British rule, where Muslims began to be constructed as alien to Myanmar. Identity has continued to hold high political import throughout the post-independence era. The institutionalisation of communal identity strengthened due to violence and insurgency, themselves also products of the military regime’s xenophobia and construction of the political community. Citizenship is determined by ethnic identity under the Citizenship Law of 1982 and the framework of taing-yintha. Rohingya communities were excluded from citizenship, while almost all Muslims were excluded from the taing-yintha framework, with the exception of the Kaman. Other Muslim minorities and other minorities also questioned their place in the nation as the military regime promoted exclusive ethno-nationalist forms of the nation. As shown, there are also concerns among Rakhine communities about their own position in a Myanmar-dominated state.

The historical institutionalist argument argues that the fact the communal violence under democratic transition was directed towards Muslim communities can be traced to the fact that Muslim communities have historically been subject to a high level of exclusion from the political community, and have been constructed as a threat to the Buddhist nature of Myanmar. When democratic transition came, these questions were to be brought to the forefront. Deep tensions between Rohingya and Rakhine 157 communities were exacerbated by a political system that constructed Rohingya as a threat to Rakhine interests electorally, creating a greater urgency to the threat. Across the country, questions of the borders of the nation, and who was to be included or excluded from the new Myanmar were opened. The following chapter will examine how these questions of identity were opened at transition.

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Chapter 5: Border Activation and Polarisation: Reconstituting the Boundaries This chapter considers the processes of identity border activation and polarisation during this episode of democratic transition and communal violence in Myanmar. The historical institutionalist argument argues that democratic transition raises questions of belonging. These questions were to be answered by drawing on identities previously constructed and politicised, even as the boundaries of these identities were continually manipulated by institutional change. In the previous chapter it was shown how the political community in Myanmar has historically been defined to the exclusion of Muslims and Rohingya in particular. National and communal identities held political meanings which hinged on the institutions of the state. Change in these institutions meant that the relationship between identities and the state also changed, opening an opportunity to redefine who belonged and who did not. Just as the outcome of transition was uncertain, so was the final relationship between communal groups and the nation and state. Just who belonged to the nation was under contestation, and various claims were made. Identity was crucial to this period of transition and rising nationalism – of which communal violence was just one aspect. This chapter shows how questions of Myanmar national identity opened during democratic transition, that communal groups polarised around this question, and that the uncertainty of transition strengthened constructions of a Rohingya or a Muslim threat to the Myanmar nation.

The strengthening of the construction of Muslims as a threat to the political community during democratic transition reflects the exclusionary nature of debates regarding citizenship and belonging that were raised in this period. These processes also reflect another aspect in the web of democratic transition and nation-building – the fear of a minority and the threat that they are perceived to pose to the nation. This is dealt with in this chapter as an aspect of the modern nation-state, and the ethno-nationalist basis upon which so many are established. In the process of defining who does belong, those who do not belong must also inevitably be defined.

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As noted earlier, mobilisation for communal violence cannot be understood as the result of any one singular process. The activation of boundaries and polarisation are processes which contribute towards mobilisation. Van Klinken equates identity formation with the question of “why followers follow”.1 Threats to identity are a powerful reason to engage in violence.2 This is a central argument of this thesis – that fear of loss of identity is a powerful enough reason to justify perpetration of violence. The processes of boundary activation and polarisation were evident across the country. In Rakhine State, the borders of communal identities polarised, and the space between Rakhine and Rohingya identities widened. Across Myanmar, the emerging conflict made religion pertinent where it was not before. Religion became more relevant to everyday events as polarisation took place. This had negative effects for Muslim communities across the country. The uncertainty and opportunity of democratic transition created contestation over the borders of belonging.

5.1 Boundary Activation and Polarisation in Rakhine State: The Kaman In Sittwe, the activation of existing boundaries of identity and the polarisation across boundaries was remarkable. The events of 2012 and the following years polarised communities further than the already tense relations, and strengthened the boundaries between identities. The ways in which identities were activated and polarised in this period is usefully illustrated by the case of the Kaman communities of Sittwe. In many ways, the Kaman identity lies on the boundaries of Rakhine, Myanmar and Muslim identities. They are the only Muslim community recognised as taing-yintha and are listed under “Rakhine” on that list. Due to their recognition by the state as taing-yintha they are entitled to citizenship under the 1982 Citizenship Law, although many Kaman did not hold identity cards at the time of research – a common problem for minorities across the country. In 2012, however, questions of the nature of the Myanmar state and the place of minorities within it were increasingly raised. This had consequences for the Kaman who faced exclusion and a restriction of their rights – many to a life-threatening

1 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 139. 2 Gurr and Harff, Ethnic Conflict in World Politics, 96. 160 extent.3 The situation of the Kaman must be appreciated as a consequence of the processes of nation-building under democratic transition, and in particular the reinterpretation of the character of the nation that accompanies a transition such as this.

The inclusion of the Kaman in the conflict showed that the boundary between identities in Myanmar had not only been activated, but had undergone significant polarisation. The violence of 2012 brought greater polarisation, extending beyond Rohingya communities. Regardless of whether or not they held citizenship cards, Kaman were restricted from Sittwe town and faced discrimination on livelihoods and travel. These concerns were heard in a Kaman village in March 2016:

Before the conflict, we could travel to Yangon. We cannot even travel outside of Sittwe Township now. Even if we have citizenship cards, we cannot travel because of our religion. At the immigration office or at the airport the immigration people say “you cannot travel due to your religion – Islam”.4

As suggested in this quote, restrictions by the state have reinforced popular perceptions that Muslims – of any ethnic category – are entitled to less rights and opportunities than Buddhists. This policy lends legitimacy to claims that Kaman hold no place in Rakhine State or in the Myanmar nation. Another Kaman respondent said that the government had stopped issuing identity cards to Kaman; “the government stopped giving us cards these days; they say it is because we are Muslim”.5 She also noted that even those with citizenship cards cannot travel to Yangon; “the immigration department at the airport don’t let us travel to Yangon because we are Kaman Muslims”.6 Kaman reported that if they travel to Sittwe town or to Rakhine villages they face violence.7 The government has sought to keep Muslims out of Sittwe town in order to prevent violence via a policy of segregation. However, there are few barriers for Muslims to travel into the town from

3 Efforts on behalf of the NLD government since 2016 to provide Kaman Muslims with citizenship cards and permit their travel have alleviated some concerns of Kaman communities. 4 Sittwe Kaman Village Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 5 Kaman Women (26yo & 46yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 6 Ibid. 7 Sittwe Kaman Village Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 161 nearby IDP camps or villages. As noted by respondents, however, it would be dangerous for them to travel to Sittwe. The threat of violence from Rakhine communities is the main deterrent. This remains the case at the time of writing.

It was commonly heard in interviews with respondents from Rakhine communities in Sittwe that that the population of “real” Kaman is quite low; and that most people who say they are Kaman are actually “Bengalis pretending to be Kaman”. One Sayadaw in Sittwe noted that “the majority of these Muslims are Bengali. Kaman Muslims are a very small population; there are really only about 6000 Kaman in Rakhine. Others lie about their ethnicity to get citizenship”.8 These remarks deserve scrutiny and should not be taken at face value. They are a good example of the extent of polarisation as well as a reflection of efforts to reframe the conflict to the exclusion of all Muslims. This is reflected in the response of a Kaman woman who reported that “they [Rakhine and the government] say that Muslims and kula are the same”.9 This suggests that the category of Kaman has become broadly categorised as similar to Rohingya or Bengali Muslims – although whether this is due to allegations of the fabrication of Kaman ethnicity for citizenship benefits or due to a broader tangling of the two ethnic categories due to their shared religion is unclear; and these two factors are not necessarily unrelated.

The exclusion of the Kaman from society after the violence suggests the widening of the boundary between Rakhine and Muslim, as well as significant polarisation across those boundaries. It suggests also a shifting of the boundary, to the exclusion of a community who formerly were included. A significant result of polarisation was the construction of a powerful message that this was Rakhine land, which belonged to Rakhine. Only they would have the privilege of living in the state capital and the social, economic and politics benefits that came with it. The USDP government reinforced this view and legitimised it with its own policy of keeping Muslims out of Sittwe.

8 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. The ICG suggests that it is “probably correct” that some Rohingya have received citizenship as Kaman after bribing officials. Without any evidence, however, it is difficult to substantiate these allegations. ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 23. 9 Kaman Women (26yo & 46yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. This quote suggests that to this respondent’s mind kula does not mean Muslim. 162

In Thandwe, Kaman and other Muslim communities were also persecuted after the violence. Although Thandwe was known as a town where Rakhine and Muslims had long lived in relative harmony, boundaries also firmed there and communities became polarised. As in Sittwe, Kaman in Thandwe were conflated with Rohingya. Polarisation was evident through the ceasing of interfaith marriage after 2012.10 One Rakhine business leader, also the secretary of the Thandwe branch of MaBaTha, expressed worry about the future of Rakhine State, and threats from “Bengalis” who “are crossing from northern Rakhine State and marrying Rakhine girls to get into Rakhine blood and take Rakhine State”.11 He noted his belief that “Kaman and Rakhine were peaceful until Bengalis began mixing with the Kaman, now Kaman and Rakhine are divided… Kaman are ethnics of Myanmar, but problems came because of mixing with Bengalis”.12 The boundaries between Rohingya and Kaman were becoming blurred as they polarised away from the Rakhine identity. The ANP Thandwe Chairperson and the Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson respectively identified the greatest issues facing the people of Thandwe as “Bengalis coming here illegally”, and the “human trafficking of Bengalis into Thandwe”.13 The Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson also cited the experiences of northern Rakhine State:

If we stick with human rights, Buddhism will go weak within 50 years in Myanmar. For Buddhists, we have monogamy and a small birth rate. Therefore, we are already losing to Muslims who are breeding quickly. For example, Buthidaung is 90% Muslim. Even without terrorists and guns they have developed dominance. This is due to immigration problems and human rights… Giving

10 Thandwe ANP Politician, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 14 June, 2016; Kaman Community Leader and Moulvi, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 May, 2016; Thandwe Kaman Village Focus Group, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 May, 2016; Rakhine Muslim Mosque Leader, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 May, 2016. 11 Rakhine Community Leader, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 12 Ibid. 13 Thandwe ANP Politician, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 14 June, 2016; Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 163

Muslims citizenship, or guest citizenship, is a main human right that is of concern for us.14

Here, similar concerns of Rakhine demography and land to that held in northern Rakhine State are expressed. Concerns of a threat to the ethnic and religious composition of a future Rakhine State are expressed by this Sayadaw. Like elsewhere in Myanmar, the conflict in northern Rakhine State was linked to local issues and affected local Muslim populations. Muslims were prevented from travelling outside of the town, as rumours of an illegal Bengali threat spread. This was used by political parties and nationalist organisations for their own political and economic benefit. The polarisation of identity across the boundaries of Muslim and Rakhine identity is evident, both in speech, in action and in the policy of government.

5.2 A Rohingya Threat and a Muslim Threat In a broad survey of attitudes towards change across Myanmar during this period of democratic transition, Mullen found that “[m]any individuals named driving Muslims out of Myanmar as a priority of the transition”.15 As the violence simmered in Rakhine State and the transition continued, similar questions were also being considered across the country. These were questions of the character of the nation and of where its boundaries lay. Where did “belonging” start and end? Who would be included within the boundaries of the political community? These questions were first asked of the Rohingya. Subsequent polarisation brought the questions to other communities of Muslims in Myanmar beyond Rohingya and Kaman. In part, questions of belonging were transferred from the conflict in Rakhine and in the tangling of ethnic and religious identities. This would not have been possible, however, without the activation of historic anxieties towards Muslims by democratic transition. This affected Muslims across the country.

14 Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 15 Matthew Mullen, Pathways That Changed Myanmar (London: Zed Books, 2016), 199. 164

During this period of democratic transition, narratives of Muslims in Myanmar were situated in the context of a recently-emerged narrative of Muslims as guests and of taing-yintha as the hosts. Nyi Nyi Kyaw has noted how this dichotomy of guests and hosts serves to first construct Myanmar Muslims as in debt to Buddhists, and second to situate Muslims as acting “ungratefully” towards Buddhists. 16 He notes how this narrative began as a reference to Rohingya in Rakhine State but has shifted to include Muslims in Myanmar generally.17 The same language of guests and hosts was used by respondents during this research.18

In the wake of the 2012 Rakhine State violence, long-standing Islamophobia, particularly towards those with South Asian heritage, determined that most of Myanmar society found more sympathy with the Rakhine Buddhist victims of the violence. After the 2012 violence, media reports across the country “incited antagonism towards Rohingya”.19 The sangha also responded in support of Buddhist communities in Rakhine State, and began to question the place of Muslims in both Rakhine State and greater Myanmar. On 9 June 2012, a group of 300 monks assembled at the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon to pray for the victims in Rakhine State. Signs were seen amongst the crowd with slogans such as “Defend Rakhine State” and “Kick Out The Bengali Terrorists”.20

In a sermon posted on YouTube in February 2013, just months before the Meiktila violence, Ashin Wirathu warns of the Muslim threat in Myanmar and draws parallels to Rakhine State. He preaches that if Buddhists continue to support Muslim businesses, their population will increase, their children will pose a danger to the Sasana, and Myanmar land would be under threat as it is in Rakhine State.21 A representative from MaBaTha also cited the Kyauk Ni Maw case in Rakhine State as a precursor to rising

16 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Alienation, Discrimination, and Securitization: Legal Personhood and Cultural Personhood of Muslims in Myanmar,” The Review of Faith & International Affairs 13, no. 4 (2015): 56- 57. 17 Ibid., 57. 18 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 19 Wilson, “Burma: Does International Attention.” 20 James Hookway, “Myanmar Clashes Spur Web Usage, Crackdown,” The Wall Street Journal, 11 June 2012, http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424052702303444204577458381714792276. 21 YouTube, Sayardaw Wirathu Pyaw Te' Naingan Ye (Sayadaw Wirathu Speaks Politics) (2013), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEUWjWYQSs4. 165 nationalism in Myanmar.22 Other instances from outside of Rakhine State were also cited by the representative, such as the apparent refusal of the Yar Zar Min bus company, owned by a Muslim family, to give Buddhist staff leave to celebrate the Kathein festival,23 a case also mentioned by Ashin Wirathu in the aforementioned online sermon.24 “Nationalism arose due to the discontent over these instances. Muslims were inciting Buddhists, and we needed to protect our Buddhism”, said the MaBaTha representative.25 Ashin Wirathu has described Muslims as “mad dogs”, who “breed quickly”, are “very violent” and “eat their own kind”.26 Ashin Wirathu’s Facebook page is constantly updated with details of “Muslim” atrocities from across the world, including murders and bomb attacks, but predominantly rape, which he claims is being used in an attack on Myanmar’s population.27 Muslims in Myanmar were presented as a threat to the future of the country and the case for restricting their participation in the political community was being made.

As far away as Lashio, towards the Chinese border in northern Shan State, information regarding the Rakhine State conflict was spread. Communal activists distributed hate speech about the Rohingya and concern grew about a religious threat from Muslims in Myanmar generally. In Lashio, several sources reported interactions with a man from Rakhine State who arrived in the town in the first half of 2013. He carried documents and DVDs carrying information about the Kyauk Ni Maw rape and murder and evidence of Buddhist statues destroyed by Muslims, which were ultimately distributed from a MaBaTha affiliated monastery.28 “In the DVDs was hate speech against Muslims. After that, people hated Muslims more and more”, said one respondent who was approached by the man.29 The information entered the local CSO network via influential leaders

22 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 23 Ibid. 24 YouTube, Sayardaw Wirathu Pyaw Te' Naingan Ye (Sayadaw Wirathu Speaks Politics). 25 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 26 APHR, “The Rohingya Crisis,” 7. 27 Alex Preston, “Saffron Terror: An Audience with Burma's 'Buddhist Bin Laden' Ashin Wirathu,” GQ Magazine, 11 February 2015, http://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/comment/articles/2015-02/12/ashin- wirathu-audience-with-the-buddhist-bin-laden-burma. 28 Lashio-Based Journalist, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 2 August, 2016; Former ABSDF Soldier, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 10 August, 2016. 29 Lashio-Based Journalist, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 2 August, 2016. 166 sympathetic to the information, and anti-Muslim sentiment was soon widespread.30 Respondents in Lashio reported growing mistrust between religions after the Rakhine State conflict, then again after the Meiktila violence. The response of one man captured the changing dynamics in Lashio as anti-Muslim sentiment swept the country and is worth quoting at length.

Before the Rakhine problems, there was no hate towards Muslims. Inter- marriage was common, and many Shan women married Muslims since the British times. After the conflict, Shan women were no longer interested in Muslim men in the schools and colleges. The hate for Muslims started in Rakhine. The phone internet became very good, and information was spread there about Muslims attacking homes. We could see on Facebook that the Maungdaw riots were two-sided, and the hate came from that. After the very one-sided attacks in Meiktila, we could see the hate from the Bamar. After Meiktila the Bamar knew that they could defeat Muslims, and were glad that they could punish them. After Rakhine, the relationship changed. Before, people didn’t really care about religions in incidents or disputes. After, people always ask Indians what their religion is – Hindu or Muslim? Bamar Buddhists began to avoid Muslim shops, and say that they should not support them… Some people don’t really know about Hinduism, and think all kula are Islamic. If we travel to central Myanmar, we have to fly a Buddhist flag on our car. But the Shan know Muslims are okay, and don’t hate them.31

A civil society leader in Lashio echoed this response. “After Rakhine and again after Meiktila there were a lot of changes in the relationships between Buddhists and Muslims”, she said, and noted that those spreading hate speech were “pushing people to create conflict, and radical nationalists followed the CSOs”.32 Another noted that people stopped buying from Muslim shops as “those kinds of ideas entered Buddhists’ minds”.33 There was discrimination towards Muslim children at school, and many anecdotes recounted this, including a rumour that a Muslim doctor was poisoning

30 Former ABSDF Soldier, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 10 August, 2016. 31 Hindu Community Leader, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 2 August, 2016. 32 Civil Society Leader, interview, Lashio, Shan State, Myanmar, 10 August, 2016. 33 Lashio CSO Member, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 10 August, 2016. 167

Buddhist children with immunisation injections.34 A shop-owner in Lashio noted that Buddhist stopped shopping at her store after hate speech was increasingly spread, and customers alleged she poisoned the food she was selling to Buddhists.35 Similarly, a respondent in Mandalay who worked in interfaith projects noted that students who had attended MaBaTha Dhamma Schools were scared to visit the mosque, as they feared they would be poisoned there by Muslims.36 The boundaries of religious identities had been activated and strengthened. Religion became salient and relevant to what were previously everyday interactions in which religion was peripheral. The interactions across the boundaries of identity had been polarised and concerned all Muslims.

In Meiktila, inflammatory material describing the Kyauk Ni Maw case and 969 sermons in the form of DVDs were also spreading after the Rakhine violence.37 Movies and pamphlets about the Rakhine conflict containing hate speech against Muslims were distributed by Buddhist organisations.38 After the Rakhine violence, another respondent noted, the 969 movement grew, and their sermons were more and more frequent.39 The Meiktila MaBaTha Chairperson noted that after the Rakhine conflict, “people in Meiktila were still sleepy, as Rakhine is very far from here”.40 From his perspective, many were not yet alert to the Muslim threat. Some in Meiktila did not believe that the violence could happen there, as people were living together, and furthermore, the town was surrounded by military bases and was home to many government staff.41

“After Rakhine, information about the Rakhine conflict was showed, and it stimulated Meiktila people”, said one activist in Meiktila.42 As in Lashio, what were previously social or economic problems became religious problems. Hindu community organisers in Meiktila also noted increased discrimination after the Rakhine conflict.43 Some six or

34 Community Organiser, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 1 August, 2016. 35 Ibid. 36 Interfaith Activist, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 5 July, 2016. 37 Political Activist, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 38 Meiktila Resident and Activist, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 39 Meiktila Resident, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 40 Meiktila MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 41 Meiktila Resident and Activist, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 42 Meiktila Interfaith Activist, interview, Meiktila, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 September, 2016. 43 Hindu Community Leaders, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 8 September, 2016. 168 seven months before the violence, Buddhist parents stopped sending their children to a private tuition with Muslim teachers, and told the teacher “it is because you are kula”.44 One Sayadaw in Meiktila said that he had become concerned about “rude Muslims” in Meiktila after the violence in Rakhine State.45 Polarisation encouraged fears, distrust and self-segregation – the conditions which were to raise violence.

Things were no different in Mandalay, where anti-Muslim sentiment had been increasing since the Rakhine violence. The 969 movement began creating “disturbances” since then, according to one Muslim leader.46 A Mandalay doctor and community organiser said that after the Kyauk Ni Maw case, “Rakhine were furious, and the police could not control it. It spread to the whole of Burma… It is connected”.47 After Meiktila, hate speech and rumours increased again in Mandalay.48 An interfaith activist noted that “after Toungup, Muslims were a little bit worried. Then after Meiktila, people were very worried. Meiktila is so close, and the fear spread. Mostly Muslims were concerned about that, not Buddhists”.49 The upheaval in a Mandalay interfaith group in the aftermath of the Rakhine violence illustrates how polarisation affected the city. This group had secretaries from various different religions but focused on activities outside of religion, while bringing people from diverse religions together. After the Rakhine violence, some members “developed misunderstandings, and came to not like Islam”, and the group’s activities were ceased.50 Religious leaders came together to form another interfaith committee to maintain religious harmony, in response to growing anti-Muslim sentiment.51

In a 2015 survey regarding violence across six Myanmar cities, Schissler, Walton and Phyu Phyu Thi found that many people “articulated a narrative about Islam in general and in Myanmar, that posits Islam as an intrinsically violent religion and Muslims in

44 Meiktila Resident, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 45 Meiktila-Based Sayadaw, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 September, 2016. 46 Panthay Community Leader, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 11 July, 2016. 47 Mandalay-Based Doctor, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 48 Burmese Muslim Community Leader, interview, 12 July, 2016. 49 CSO Activist, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 50 Christian Community Leader, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 25 July, 2016. 51 Christian Pastor, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 July, 2016. 169

Myanmar as potentially dangerous”.52 Those interviewed expressed fears of Islam “swallowing” Buddhism in Myanmar.53 Central to this narrative is an understanding of Islam as an expansionist religion that seeks to overtake other religions. In 2013 Aung San Suu Kyi noted to the BBC that, “Fear is not just on the side of the Muslims, but on the side of the Buddhists as well”, and that, “there’s a perception that Muslim power, global Muslim power, is very great”.54 Such a perspective is common in Myanmar, and is evident in the statements of Buddhist nationalist organisations and politicians. As a result, vigilance is seen as necessary from Buddhists to protect their religion from this apparent threat.55

Fears of a Muslim threat are often related to international events, and reflect a “global threat felt to be both descending upon the country and growing within it”.56 Many in Myanmar cite events in the Middle-East to justify their fears of Islam and Muslims, and researchers have noted parallels between discourses of Islam globally and in Myanmar, particularly in the context of the “War on Terror”.57 A Christian leader involved in interfaith activities noted how his Buddhist friends would use examples from the Middle-East to “blame Islam” for conflict and violence.58 Similarly, in a 2013 sermon, Ashin Wirathu uses the spectre of Muslims dominating the economy with the backing of Saudi Arabian oil money to encourage his audience to isolate Muslims economically and socially.59

Such global references are not limited to contemporary events, although they are likely highly influenced by them. These narratives are also historical. For example, it is commonly cited that Afghanistan, Malaysia or Indonesia were once Buddhist areas. “Arab traders came there, married many wives, forced them to convert, had Muslim

52 Schissler, Walton, and Phyu Phyu Thi, “Threat and Virtuous Defence,” 7. 53 Ibid., 8. 54 BBC, “Suu Kyi Blames Burma Violence on 'Climate of Fear',” BBC, 24 October 2013, http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-24651359. 55 Schissler, Walton, and Phyu Phyu Thi, “Threat and Virtuous Defence,” 9. 56 Ibid., 11. 57 Ibid., 10; Aye Thein, “Putting Myanmar’s “Buddhist Extremism” in an International Context,” Tea Circle, 1 September 2017, https://teacircleoxford.com/2017/09/01/putting-myanmars-buddhist- extremism-in-an-international-context/. 58 Christian Community Leader, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 25 July, 2016. 59 YouTube, Sayardaw Wirathu Pyaw Te' Naingan Ye (Sayadaw Wirathu Speaks Politics). 170 children and influenced the original religion until Buddhism disappeared”, it is said.60 Both these global and historical references are used to colour all Muslims. A MaBaTha leader expressed concerns that Myanmar would also one day be a Muslim nation, and stated that “not all Muslims are extremists, but all extremists are Muslims”.61

Across the country, information about the Rakhine violence and hate speech towards Muslims had been spread and concerns of a Muslim threat to Buddhism in Myanmar were widespread. Religious communities became increasingly polarised. The Rakhine violence and subsequent spread of hate speech brought about a new salience in religious identity across the country and characterised what were previously ordinary interactions through a religious frame. For many, there was an urgency to act to protect Buddhism, and the uncertain period of transition away from authoritarian rule was an opportunity to cement Buddhist influence in the country. While this is most evident in Rakhine State, fears of the loss of Myanmar’s Buddhist character are also evident elsewhere in the country. The perceived need to consolidate Buddhist influence was central to the warnings sounded by Buddhist nationalist organisations. Narratives of a threat from Islam, regardless of their accuracy, demanded a response from Buddhists. Suspicion of Muslims grew, and the content of Myanmar Buddhist identity strengthened in opposition to Muslims and Islam as violence continued.

5.3 Conclusion The activation of boundaries and polarisation across them during democratic transition is a crucial element of the historical institutionalist argument. Democratic transition opened questions of the nation, its boundaries and of who belonged. These questions open at democratic transition because before democratic politics can occur, the polity, or the political community, must be defined. Just who belongs to the nation, however, is not derived from any democratic principle. Nationalism fills this gap and is a prerequisite to democratic politics. As democratic transition took place, there was competition to define inclusion and exclusion, and fears that communities would not

60 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 61 Ibid. 171 have positions of privilege in the new conception of the nation. This was an opportunity to reshape the character of the nation. The politics of nation-building and exclusion during this period of uncertainty encouraged polarisation across identity groups. Communal violence was just one part of this, and should be understood both as a result of polarisation and as a factor which fed back into uncertainties and fears.

Of the three factors necessary for communal violence during this period of democratic transition in Myanmar – a political community historically defined exclusively, the promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism by elites and the availability of non- elites to perpetrate violence – this chapter has stressed the first condition and elaborated upon the second. The historical exclusion and construction of Muslims as a threat determined that it was Muslim communities, and Rohingya in particular, whose place in the nation was questioned. They were demonised, and in some cases dehumanised, as narratives of a Muslim threat spread. This narrative was often spread by political, religious and community leaders, as documented in this chapter. Due to the fact that identity is best understood at where it meets other identities, the act of defining the excluded serves an important function. For many, the act of defining “Myanmar” was achieved through the definition of those who were not “Myanmar”. The chasm between Buddhists and Muslims grew across the country.

Identity can help us to understand “why followers follow” – it is a crucial element of mobilisation. This is something we must understand if we want to explain why people become involved in acts of violence which seem irrational to the outside observer. The question of why individuals become involved in violence cannot be explained simply by instrumentalist accounts of the violence for political or economic gain, which construct followers as duped by elites. The activation of the boundaries of identity and polarisation across these boundaries explains in part why people became involved in violence. Identities were not inconsequential. Identity was dearly held, and threats to these identities were taken seriously and warranted defence. The anti-Muslim hate speech which was spread touched upon these existing fears and insecurities of a loss of identity. These discourses were backed by religious and political leaders, some of the most influential actors in the country. The next chapter follows the patterns of engagement between the state, Rakhine ethno-nationalists and Buddhist nationalist 172 organisations as elites responded to the opportunities and threats of transition by promoting exclusionary forms of nationalism.

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Chapter 6: Actor Constitution and Brokerage: Organising Nationalism This chapter is concerned with the formation of relevant new actors during the period of democratic transition and communal violence in Myanmar and the ways in which these actors interacted with each other. In particular this chapter is interested in the formation of Buddhist nationalist organisations in both Rakhine State and greater Myanmar and how these organisations related to each other and to political parties, including the then-governing USDP and leading Rakhine political party RNDP, which later merged with the ALD to become the ANP. The Buddhist nationalist movement and Rakhine political parties have been linked to instances of communal violence either through instigation or organisation. The contentious politics process of actor constitution and mechanisms of scale shift and of brokerage are particularly important. Members of the influential sangha were key players in actor constitution and brokerage. Buddhist nationalist groups made claims on the USDP government to recognise their influence and fill their demands. As shown by this chapter, the result was an informal coalition between Myanmar and Rakhine Buddhist nationalists who successfully influenced the USDP. Elites’ appeals to exclusionary forms of nationalism can be seen throughout this chapter.

This chapter argues that political opportunities and threats which arose in the early stage of democratic transition were seized by actors. The early stages of democratic transition in 2010 provided an open political system which had long been absent in Myanmar. Political parties around the country began to organise to contest the elections that year. In Rakhine State, the RNDP was formed and ran on a successful ethno- nationalist platform. They sought to claim back Rakhine land for the Rakhine people, and their rhetoric reflected the grievances commonplace in Rakhine: land rights, self- determination and autonomy. Political freedoms also allowed Buddhist nationalists to network and organise throughout Myanmar.

There were also threats that the movement was reacting to. The rape and murder in Kyauk Ni Maw in May 2012 provoked anger across the country and foreshadowed the

174 violence in Sittwe in early June that year. Muslims were framed as they had long been constructed historically; as the aggressors, intent on taking Rakhine land or Islamising Myanmar. Buddhist nationalists in Rakhine State and greater Myanmar felt an urgency to mobilise support. During this period of institutional change and uncertainty, Buddhist nationalists in Myanmar institutionalised their movement – illustrated by the shift from the 969 movement to MaBaTha (from a network to an organisation) – with increasing brokerage with Rakhine Buddhist organisations and political parties. These actors shared common concerns and goals, and their relationship had benefits for both parties, as will be shown in this chapter. These processes should again be seen as contributing towards the mobilisation of support for communal violence.

Buddhist nationalist organisations increasingly made demands upon the USDP government, which it had little motivation to resist. This is illustrated in this chapter by the examples of the Race and Religion Protection Laws and the anti-white card movement. The USDP appeared to push back against the influence of these groups periodically but ultimately filled their demands. It is most likely that the USDP judged that the risks of challenging monastics and appearing to neglect the protection of Buddhism carried dire political risks. Increasingly during the 2015 electoral campaign the USDP’s loose alliance with nationalist organisations such as MaBaTha solidified and the party appealed to nationalism to win votes. The party (with its military background) was framed as one which could defend Myanmar’s religious character – in contrast to the NLD which was increasingly accused of being too close to Muslims and unable to protect the country from a perceived Muslim threat.

The processes evaluated in this chapter resulted in the disenfranchisement of Rohingya Muslims in Rakhine State and the introduction of discriminatory legislation. Toleration of those who preached anti-Muslim speech and a failure to arrest perpetrators of the violence also produced an environment in which anti-Muslim violence went unpunished and appeared to be endorsed by the state. The conditions and mechanisms which produced communal violence went unchallenged. This pattern can be identified between 2012 and 2015 – from the emergence of the 969 movement at a national level to the peak of Buddhist nationalism patronage at the 2015 election.

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6.1 Actor Constitution in Rakhine State This section outlines the organisation of political parties and nationalist organisations in Rakhine lay and monastic society in the period preceding and throughout the period under study. There is a focus on the main actors and the opportunities and threats they mobilised in reaction to.

6.1.1 Political Parties The constitution of political parties in Rakhine State is notable among Myanmar’s ethnic states for the degree of unity and success that they have achieved. The RNDP was formed to contest the 7 November 2010 elections, and had its registration approved in June of that year. In the 2010 election, the RNDP achieved better results than any other ethnic party in the country, winning 35 of the 44 seats it contested in both state and union legislatures.1 The RNDP was the only party to have a greater number of seats than the USDP in any state or regional parliament. The party ran on an ethno-nationalist platform. Dr Aye Maung, who was the chairperson of the party from its formation until late 2017, was quoted as saying in August 2010; “Our party is the only nationalist party of Arakan State to carry out the state's interest and development, so many people in our state support our party morally and physically”.2 The party did not accept Muslim members at the time of formation, according to a Rohingya politician who attempted to join.3

The propensity for the electoral success of ethnic Rakhine parties was previously seen in the success of the then dominant ALD in the 1990 elections. The party had been formed in 1989 and was the third most successful party nationally after the NLD and Shan Nationalities League for Democracy in 1990. The ALD chose to boycott the 2010

1 Bill O'Toole, “How the USDP Went from Courting to Spurning Rakhine State's Muslims,” The Myanmar Times, 3 November 2014, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/12150-how-the-usdp- went-from-courting-to-spurning-rakhine-state-s-muslims.html. 2 Mizzima, “Rakhine Nationalities Development Party,” Mizzima 2010, https://web.archive.org/web/20101207000329/http://www.mizzima.com/political-pro/new- parties/rndp.html. 3 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 176 election, but re-registered in April 2012. While the RNDP was known as an ethno- nationalist party, the ALD was better known for campaigning to amend the 2008 Constitution.4 A deal was struck in June 2013 between the ALD and RNDP to merge the two parties into the ANP. In March 2014 the Union Electoral Commission approved the registration of the ANP,5 which the ICG called “a powerful political force in the state, with strong legitimacy and organisational strength”.6 Shortly after the merge former RNDP secretary Khin Pyi Soe noted that the objectives of the party were democratisation, federalism and development of Rakhine State.7 The representative also stated;

party policy is that we don’t accept the Bengalis nor do we recognise the name ‘Rohingya’. We support the 1980 and 1983 laws. This is in fact the policy of our RNDP. The ALD will also need to accept this policy because it is the will of all Arakanese people.8

Muslim respondents in Sittwe reported that discrimination from RNDP members and supporters worsened after the RNDP’s 2010 success. A Muslim businessman noted that discrimination against Muslims grew after the 2010 elections, due to the RNDP’s growing influence, and the fact that the Rakhine State Chief Minister was ethnically Rakhine. He noted that “Rakhine parties made propaganda against Rohingya, and made the Rakhine hate Rohingya through hate speech”.9 Another respondent also noted that the relationship had declined since 2009, with more violence between communities.10 He believes this was because “Muslims were trying to make Buddhists suffer”.11

Evidence suggested that members of the RNDP were connected to violence in Rakhine State in 2012 and 2013. HRW documented how the RNDP and local sangha advocated

4 Naw Say Phaw Waa, “Rakhine Parties Formalise Merger,” The Irrawaddy, 21 June 2013, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/7194-rakhine-parties-formalise-merger.html. 5 Ministry of Information, “Rakhine National Party Allowed as Political Party,” news release, 7 March, 2014, http://www.moi.gov.mm/moi:eng/?q=announcement/7/03/2014/id-1159. 6 ICG, “Myanmar: The Politics of Rakhine State,” 15. 7 DVB, “Arakan Alliance,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 9 March 2014, http://www.dvb.no/interview/arakan-alliance-burma-myanmar/38244. 8 Ibid. 9 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 10 Maramargyi Man (40yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 11 Ibid. 177 for the expulsion of Muslims and their isolation from social and economic life before the 2012 violence.12 Researchers found that the RNDP played an “instrumental role in stoking fear and encouraging isolation of and violence against the Rohingya”.13 A statement released by Dr Aye Maung on 26 July 2012 says; “the present Bengali population causes threats for the whole Arakan people and other ethnic groups”.14 Furthermore, HRW notes;

The party statement denies the existence of the Rohingya and refers to a “fabricated history,” stating the “Bengalis” are “damaging Arakan people and national sovereignty.” Finally, it urges a “complete solution,” including a call to “temporarily relocate” Rohingya “so that they do not reside mixed or close to Arakan people in Arakan State territorial towns and villages,” and to “transfer non-Burmese Bengali nationals to third countries”.15

Prior to the violence of October 2012, “local government officials, members of the RNDP and Arakanese community members” met publically to discuss the expulsion of the Muslim communities. Muslims attended these meetings in various townships. They were not permitted to give input, and were told they should move away from the area.16

U Oo Hla Saw, then secretary-general of the RNDP, denies party involvement in the violence but admitted that local members of the party could have been involved, while a military intelligence officer told media that the “RNDP members were among the instigators”.17 Another RNDP parliamentarian said that some grassroots members were “extreme” and indicated that the party had difficulty balancing the requests of members of the community.18 Kean has noted;

12 HRW, ““All You Can Do Is Pray”,” 24. 13 Ibid., 26. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid., 26-27. 16 Ibid., 43. 17 Jason Szep and Andrew RC Marshall, “In Myanmar, Ethnic Party Taps Dangerous Nationalist Fervor,” Reuters, 11 November 2012, http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/11/11/us-myanmar-rndp- idUSBRE8AA0FK20121111. 18 Thomas Kean, “Religious Conflict and Myanmar's Parliament: The Silence in the House,” in Communal Violence in Myanmar, ed. Nick Cheesman and Htoo Kyaw Win (Yangon: Myanmar Knowledge Society, 2015), 61. 178

The sincerity of senior party members who try to distance themselves from those involved in the violence should be seriously questioned. In some cases, they have publicly supported members arrested for alleged participation in mob violence against Muslims.19

In 2013, for example, RNDP chairperson Dr Aye Maung defended Thandwe RNDP chairperson U Maung Pu, who had been arrested for participation in the violence. Dr Aye Maung said “authorities have arrested civil society and party leaders as casually as if they are catching chickens or birds”, and defended U Maung Pu’s character.20

6.1.2 Sangha Although MaBaTha was the most influential Buddhist nationalist organisation in Myanmar during the period, they carried less influence in Sittwe and northern Rakhine State. MaBaTha is not as influential as elsewhere in the country due to the presence of powerful Rakhine nationalist monastic organisations. MaBaTha’s main Rakhine State office is in Sittwe, although their activities are focused in Thandwe.21 It should be noted, however, that influence is not necessarily determined by membership of an organisation, and individual monastics are also known for their own charisma.

The most influential sangha organisation in Sittwe since 2012 has been the Yahanpyo Mya Sigan Teinthein Ye Aphwè. This organisation has no official English name, but can be translated as the Young Monks’ Organisation for Maintaining Discipline (hereafter Young Monks’ Organisation).22 MaBaTha is constituted by monks from all over Myanmar, while the Young Monks’ Organisation is made up of monks only from Rakhine State. A Sittwe-based Sayadaw cites the Young Monks’ Organisation’s objective to be “the protection of Rakhine nationalists”.23 A MaBaTha representative in Yangon stated

19 Ibid. 20 Min Thein Aung, “More Detained as Violence in Rakhine State Is Blamed on ‘Outsiders’,” Radio Free Asia, 10 April 2013, http://www.rfa.org/english/news/myanmar/thandwe-10042013185750.html. 21 Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016; MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 22 “Discipline” here is meant in its Buddhist sense – abiding by the rules of the dhamma. 23 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 179 that there was no direct relationship between the two organisations, but that they were connected indirectly as they were striving for the same goals.24

A senior member of the Young Monk’s Organisation notes that the organisation was formed after the first wave of violence in June 2012. One of their first actions was to take measures to block aid reaching displaced Muslim communities.25 Monks created checkpoints on the road to the camps and turned people they suspected of delivering aid around. The organisation also released statements demanding that Rakhine not associate with Muslims.26 The concerns of the organisation reflect those held generally in Rakhine communities. “Rakhine continues to give natural resources with little return”, the member noted, and said the biggest issues for Rakhine are “education, health and land confiscation”.27 The objectives of his organisation are “to put Rakhine people in their rightful place, and to control the communities so that conflict doesn’t occur again”.28 He advises his followers “to live separately” from Muslims, as “living together is creating the conflict”.29 Illustrating the political influence of the Young Monk’s Organisation, its representative Ashin Sanda Wara addressed the crowd before Dr Aye Maung at an ANP rally in Sittwe in December 2015.30

Rakhine nationalists mobilised in response to changing opportunity and threat structures during democratic transition. There was the rare opportunity to engage in meaningful politics to work for the future of Rakhine State following the 2010 election. There were also threats to Rakhine land and identity that needed to be mobilised against. These came in the form of domination from the USDP and military who threatened Rakhine autonomy and self-determination, but also in the form of the Muslim population, understood as a threat to autonomy, self-determination and therefore Rakhine identity. Meanwhile, across the Rakhine Yoma, Burmese Buddhist

24 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 25 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (2), interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 26 Hanna Hindstrom, “Burma's Monks Call for Muslim Community to Be Shamed,” The Independent, 24 July 2012, http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/burmas-monks-call-for-muslim-community- to-be-shunned-7973317.html. 27 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (2), interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid. 30 Author’s observation. See also RFA Burmese, Sittwe Residents Want Dr Aye Maung as ANP Leader (Radio Free Asia Burmese, 2015), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oRWV-XoWYTQ. 180 nationalists were mobilising in reaction to their own set of opportunities and threats. This movement was also linked to the Rakhine nationalist movement through diffusion and brokerage.

6.2 Buddhist Nationalism in Myanmar: Local Origins of the 969 Movement The 969 movement can be understood primarily as the expression of anti-Muslim sentiment in Myanmar, although the motivations that individuals have for supporting the movement are likely to be diverse and are not limited to anti-Muslim sentiment. It is a widespread movement, and support can be found all over Myanmar. The 969 movement has no strict structure, and is a loose network rather than an organisation. It has been supported by influential monastics and government figures.

The 969 logo (image 6.1) has accompanied the rise of the movement and can be found on houses and businesses in neighbourhoods and markets across the country. The symbol features the numbers “969” in Myanmar script, representing “the nine great qualities of the Buddha, the six great qualities of the dhamma (his teachings), and the nine great qualities of the sangha (monkhood), the “triple gems” of Buddhism”.31 Below the numbers are found four lions, representing the ancient Buddhist King Asoka. The symbol’s Mawlamyine-based designer Ashin Sadama notes; “If someone wants to do something good for the Buddhist religion, the country or the people, he or she must have the spirit of the king Ashoka”.32 These images are situated on a chakra wheel, which is then usually on a Myanmar Sasana flag.

31 Matthew J. Walton, “A Primer on the Roots of Buddhist/Muslim Conflict in Myanmar, and a Way Forward,” IslamiCommentary, 3 October 2013, http://islamicommentary.org/2013/10/matthew-walton- a-primer-on-the-roots-of-buddhistmuslim-conflict-in-myanmar-and-a-way-forward/. 32 Carlos Sardiña Galache, “Who Are the Monks Behind Burma's '969' Campaign?,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 10 May 2013, http://www.dvb.no/news/features-news/the-monks-behind-burma%E2%80%99s- %E2%80%9C969%E2%80%9Dmovement-2/28079. 181

Figure 6.1: The 969 movement logo

The numerals 969 are intended to pose a challenge to the numerals 786 – used by Muslim communities to mark businesses which sell halal food or are Muslim-owned. The numbers 786 represent the first verse of the Koran – Bismillah hi rahmani rahim – which translates as “In the Name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Compassionate”.33 According to Nyi Nyi Kyaw, leaders of the 969 movement have noted that one of the most important reasons for the development of the symbol was as a response to 786.34 Rumours circulate in Myanmar of a Muslim conspiracy to keep money within their own community by only doing business with each other, in shops marked with 786. As the sum of the three numbers equals 21, a widespread conspiracy theory stipulates that the numerology reflects Muslims’ plans to take over the country in the 21st century.

A senior MaBaTha representative, when explaining the history of 969, cited a book written in the 1930s by Moulvi Shwe Hpi, a Burmese Muslim.35 This book is often cited as the trigger for violence between Burmese Buddhist and Indian communities in colonial Burma in the late 1930s. The representative argued that Shwe Hpi instructed Burmese Muslims to only support Muslim-owned businesses, which were to be marked

33 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence,” in Islam and the State in Myanmar: Muslim-Buddhist Relations and the Politics of Belonging, ed. Melissa Crouch (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016), 195. 34 Ibid. 35 Moulvi is a term used in Myanmar and South Asia to refer to a qualified Islamic scholar. 182 by the numbers 786.36 “Sometimes, we need to envy their actions”, said the representative, and stated that the 969 movement could unite Buddhists in Myanmar.37 The 969 movement was mobilised with an anti-Muslim agenda. Soon after its mobilisation, the 969 movement ran a “buy Buddhist” campaign to boycott Muslim businesses and isolate them economically.

The 969 movement has some origins in official patronage. A Reuters special report documents that in the early 1990s the military regime sought to win support from the sangha after monastic participation in anti-government protests in 1988. The Department for the Promotion and Propagation of the Sangha was created under the Ministry of Religious Affairs, and headed by a government officer by the name of U Kyaw Lwin.38 Kyaw Lwin was close to junta leaders such as Than Shwe and Khin Nyunt. In 1992, upon the request of the then top general Saw Maung, the department published a book containing a collection of Kyaw Lwin’s writings titled “How to Live as a Good Buddhist”, which was republished in 2000 with the new title “The Best Buddhist”. The latter publication had on its cover an early version of what is now the 969 logo.39 Kyaw Lwin also published a short manifesto in 1997 titled “969” with a publisher called Hna Phet Hla.40 The publication urged readers to “openly display the numbers on their homes, businesses and vehicles”.41 Kyaw Lwin and Ashin Wirathu met in 1992 and maintained contact until Kyaw Lwin’s death in 2001.42 There is no indication, however, that any of these texts contained overt anti-Muslim sentiment comparable to what the 969 movement would later publish after 2012.

Van Klinken and Su Mon Thazin Aung note the beginnings of “a new anti-Muslim project” in 2001, in which “monks proclaimed a new identity-based framing of the anti-Muslim

36 The use of 786 dates back much further than the 1930s and is used by Muslims in South and Southeast Asia. See Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti- Muslim Violence,” 195-97. 37 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 38 Andrew RC Marshall, “Myanmar's Offical Embrace of Extreme Buddhism,” Reuters Special Report, 27 June 2013, http://www.reuters.com/article/us-myanmar-969-specialreport-idUSBRE95Q04720130627. 39 Ibid. 40 Kyaw Zwa Moe, “A Radically Different Dhamma,” The Irrawaddy, 9 March 2017, https://www.irrawaddy.com/from-the-archive/radically-different-dhamma-2.html; Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence,” 185. 41 Kyaw Zwa Moe, “A Radically Different Dhamma.” 42 Marshall, “Myanmar's Offical Embrace.” 183 riot that was not related to specific economic or political grievances”.43 While perceived threats to Buddhism have been a recurring feature of Buddhist nationalist movements in Myanmar – for example the concerns over Buddhism’s sponsorship by the state during the colonial period – there did appear to be an increase in specifically anti-Muslim rhetoric in the late 1990s and early 2000s. In 2001, for instance, a book titled Myo Pyauk Hmar So Kyauksaya (Fear of the Disappearance of the Race) was published.44 The book advocated cutting economic and social ties with Muslims and particularly called for the prohibition of interfaith marriages.45 These repertoires of action and demands are also made by both the 969 movement and MaBaTha. These both reflected and spread anti- Muslim sentiment.

Tracing the origins of the 969 movement is particularly difficult, in part because different members cite different histories, perhaps to purposefully obscure the recent background of the movement. A member of MaBaTha’s Central Committee and editor of its publications reported that the movement started very early in locations such as Dawei, Hinthada and areas of Shan State. He was unsure exactly when the use of 969 as a symbol began, but said it was “after independence”.46 Another senior representative of MaBaTha, however, says that the use of 969 began in Mawlamyine in 1984, when a Muslim man was found to be distributing pamphlets encouraging Muslim men to marry Buddhist women.47 These claims should be treated with scepticism, as leaders of the movement have an interest in exaggerating its short history.

43 Gerry van Klinken and Su Mon Thazin Aung, “The Contentious Politics of Anti-Muslim Scapegoating in Myanmar,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 47, no. 3 (2017): 358. 44 Ye Myint Win notes that a book with almost exactly the same title, Myo Pyauk Hmar So Kyauk Hla Dè, and similar anti-Muslim content was published in the 1950s by Shwe Doe Be Aung. Ye Myint Win, “A Case Study of Violence and Recovery in Meikhtila, Myanmar” (Masters Thesis, Mahidol University, 2017), 37. Nyi Nyi Kyaw found that in 1989 state newspapers published a series of articles presenting a Muslim threat to Buddhism under a similar name, Amyo Pyauk Hmar So Kyauk Hla Pa The, which Nyi Nyi Kyaw translates as “We Fear Deracination!”. Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence,” 194. The slogan of the Department of Immigration and Population was formerly “The earth will not swallow a race to extinction but another will.” 45 Kyaw Zwa Moe, “A Radically Different Dhamma.” 46 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017. 47 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 184

6.2.1 Scale Shift Despite some connections to regime officials, however, the 969 movement was primarily a grassroots phenomenon. In 2012 the 969 movement mobilised its resources to gain nation-wide influence. Rather than a formal organisation, the 969 movement was a “network of Sayadaws”.48 The scale of the movement shifted from the local to the national. The reasons why the movement successfully mobilised are many, but the changing threat and opportunity structures under democratic transition were central. The mobilisation of resources took a very visible form, firstly in the form of a conference organised by a little known monastic organisation led by five monks in Mawlamyine in October 2012 – the official beginning of the 969 movement.49

The movement was mobilised in response to a series of perceived threats in 2012. First, the Muslim-owned Ya Zar Min bus company requested its Buddhist staff to work through the Buddhist holiday of Kathein, a festival in which robes are donated to monks. Second was the rape and murder in Rakhine State in May 2012. A MaBaTha representative is very clear that the mobilisation of nationalist sentiment under the 969 banner was in response to these events. “Muslims were inciting Buddhists, and we needed to protect our Buddhism”, he says, explaining that nationalism rose due to a “fear that Buddhism would disappear” and the 969 symbol was made.50

These events of course took place in the political context of 2012, and in particular the April 2012 by-election in which the NLD was so successful. Ashin Wirathu and others were already criticising the NLD as being too close to Muslims in early 2013.51 The NLD’s victory in 2012 concerned the conservative and nationalistic monastics who perceived Buddhism as under threat and in need of a strong government to protect it. The 969 movement viewed the NLD as a party under the influence of Islamists, and was concerned that Buddhism was under threat not only from Islam but also from the NLD,

48 Ibid. 49 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017; Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence,” 204. 50 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 51 See, for example, YouTube, Sayardaw Wirathu Pyaw Te' Naingan Ye (Sayadaw Wirathu Speaks Politics). 185 which was too weak to protect it. Many nationalists saw the NLD as a threat to Buddhist that required a response.

As well as the presence of these threats, there were also opportunities to mobilise nationalist sentiment across the country. An opportunity was emerging from Rakhine State. A MaBaTha respondent frames this in terms of the widespread anger and unity under the name of nationalism after the rape and murder in Kyauk Ni Maw in May 2012.52 This was an opportunity for Myanmar nationalists to engage in brokerage with Rakhine nationalists and to spread the concerns related to a Muslim threat, and particularly a Rohingya threat, across the country. Rakhine nationalist organisations and the Buddhist nationalist movement in Myanmar shared fears of a Muslim threat and aligned on this platform. The situation in Rakhine State fuelled the anti-Muslim sentiments and propaganda on which the greater Buddhist nationalist movement survived, while Rakhine nationalist organisations could rely on the influential Buddhist nationalist movement to support its political, social and legislative agenda. Both also felt a threat from the NLD, whose rhetoric on human rights over protecting the religion and national security was perceived as a threat to Buddhism. This was brokerage between Rakhine and Myanmar nationalists.

The 969 movement was successful in mobilising and shifting scale from a local audience to a national audience because of how it framed its claims. The movement identified a fear which was deeply ingrained in Myanmar Buddhist society – the loss of the religion to a foreign other. On this occasion the threat was from Muslims and Islam, although in the past the same threats had been identified from other sources. The movement also offered solutions to the threat – for Buddhists to come together and support each other economically and socially. People concerned about the disappearance of their religion could easily identify with the movement and take part in its repertoires of action. The 969 movement succeeded in frame alignment. The movement offered solutions that were familiar to Myanmar society. It called upon the Myanmar government to take up the traditional role of the state – the protection of the religion.

52 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017. 186

Even after the 969 movement was officially launched in October 2012 and shifted to a national level, its local nature remained. “In other places, they will spread the symbol on their own. Other townships use the logo for their own purposes”, noted Ashin Sadama.53 While it had national reach, the movement was used for different purposes in different places, and continued to have different meanings to its various followers and supporters. The mobilisation and scale shift of the 969 movement in October 2012 can be understood as a response to political opportunity and threat structures. Furthermore, this was diffusion and brokerage. The message of the movement reached new audiences across the country, propelled by the outrage over the rape and murder in Rakhine State, and the information and hate speech spreading at that time. The establishment of a network of monks across the country in 2012 represented an early stage of brokerage, connecting monastics with similar concerns across the country. This successful brokerage was soon to be formalised and institutionalised.

6.2.2 Institutionalisation of Buddhist Nationalism: MaBaTha If the 969 movement was the beginning of brokerage, then the formation of MaBaTha was the institutionalisation of Buddhist nationalism in the Myanmar polity. While the 969 movement can be understood as an expression of rising nationalism in Myanmar, MaBaTha became a vehicle for its promotion and influence, formally and informally. As well as giving the network of nationalists a coherent structure and voice in the form of an organisation, it cemented the Buddhist nationalist movement as an actor in national politics and the 2015 election. Although not of direct relevance to the period under investigation in this thesis, since June 2017 MaBaTha has mostly rebranded itself as the Buddha Dhamma Parahita Foundation in reaction to a directive by MaHaNa stating that MaBaTha was not formed in accordance with existing sangha laws.54

MaBaTha was formed on 27 June 2013 at a meeting of 1,530 monks in Insein Township, Yangon. MaHaNa banned the use of the 969 symbol for political or religious means in

53 Galache, “Who Are the Monks.” 54 See Matthew J. Walton, “Misunderstanding Myanmar’s Ma Ba Tha”, Asia Times, 9 June 2017, http://www.atimes.com/article/misunderstanding-myanmars-ma-ba-tha/. 187

September 2013,55 leaving MaBaTha as the preeminent nationalist organisation. MaBaTha’s “more centralized structure and explicitly legal-political strategy” gives it greater influence than the 969 movement, notes Pedersen.56 The organisation’s charter notes its objectives to be the formation of the organisation in different locations and levels across Myanmar (to the township and ward/village administrative levels), the establishment of faith-based legislation, and cultural and moral education of the younger generation. While MaHaNa banned the use of the 969 symbol, it has made few attempts to censor MaBaTha. As Schonthal and Walton note, several MaHaNa monastics also hold high-ranking positions in MaBaTha.57

MaBaTha’s charter outlines the structure of the organisation. On the central committee sits; nine advisor monks; one chair (monk); three vice chairs (monks); a secretary (monk); five assistant secretaries (monks); and members (80 monks and 35 lay persons). A central executive body has a more exhaustive structure and includes an international relations department, legal affairs department and cultural department. The central actors of MaBaTha have been largely the same monastics and lay people who were involved in the 969 movement.58

The institutionalisation of the nationalist movement in MaBaTha was also accompanied by the addition of new actors. Perhaps the most notable actor to join MaBaTha was the Sitagu Sayadaw, one of the most influential and popular Sayadaw in the country, who is generally known as a moderate. The Sitagu Sayadaw may have seen MaBaTha as an organisation in which he could deploy his influence in the sangha. The inclusion of the Sayadaw may also, however, have served to legitimate the organisation to those who would otherwise have been turned off by its divisive rhetoric. While Gravers argues that the role of the Sitagu Sayadaw was “obviously to take the violence out of the movement

55 May Sitt Paing, “Buddhist Committee's 969 Prohibitions Prompts Meeting of Movement Backers,” The Irrawaddy, 10 September 2013, http://www.irrawaddy.org/burma/buddhist-committees-969- prohibitions-prompts-meeting-of-movement-backers.html. 56 Pedersen, “Myanmar in 2014: Tacking against the Wind,” 235. 57 Schonthal and Walton, “The (New) Buddhist Nationalisms? Symmetries and Specificities in Sri Lanka and Myanmar,” 85. 58 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence,” 205. 188 in order to protect the position and image of Buddhism”,59 the reasons may be more complicated and opaque. The Sitagu Sayadaw has been known to engage in anti-Muslim rhetoric himself.60 In an October 2017 sermon, at the height of military atrocities against civilians in northern Rakhine State, Sitagu told his military audience that the killing of non-Buddhists could be excusable if it was done with the intention of protecting the religion.61

While MaBaTha’s main concern is certainly the protection of Buddhism from a Muslim threat, MaBaTha is also concerned with the preservation and practice of Buddhism independent of a threat from Islam. This complicates the characterisation of MaBaTha simply as an anti-Muslim organisation. It also means that individuals who support or become involved in MaBaTha do so with different motivations, something reflected in interviews conducted for this study. Some individuals from MaBaTha did not identify any threats to Buddhism outside of a Muslim threat when asked. Others expressed concerns about incorrect interpretations of the dhamma and practices of Buddhism, and saw MaBaTha as a mediator which could resolve such debates.62 They described MaBaTha as an organisation which sought to educate the younger generations on the correct interpretations and rituals of Buddhism.63 Welfare relief after natural disasters was also cited as an objective of MaBaTha.64 These aims are not necessarily independent of a Muslim threat for all members, however. The MaBaTha chairperson in Thandwe framed MaBaTha’s education programmes in terms of protecting the religion from a Muslim threat;

Most Buddhists in Burma are traditional, casual Buddhists. They don’t know the real meanings of the Dhamma, that’s why intermarriage occurs

59 Gravers, “Politically Engaged Buddhism: Spiritual Politics or Nationalist Medium?,” 318; “Anti-Muslim Buddhist Nationalism in Burma and Sri Lanka: Religious Violence and Globalized Imaginaries of Endangered Identities,” Contemporary Buddhism 16, no. 1 (2015): 14. 60 Nick Cheesman, “The Right to Have Rights,” in Communal Violence in Myanmar, ed. Nick Cheesman and Htoo Kyaw Win (Yangon: Myanmar Knowledge Society, 2015), 146-47. See also, for example, Sitagu, (Youtube: mg atee, 2014), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDk4CST48PQ. 61 Paul Fuller, “Sitagu Sayadaw and Justifiable Evils in Buddhism,” New Mandala, 13 November 2017, http://www.newmandala.org/sitagu-sayadaw-justifiable-evils-buddhism/. 62 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016; MaBaTha Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 63 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 64 Ibid. 189

between religions. That’s why ex-Buddhist women stamp on images of the Buddha. They don’t have an understanding of the Dhamma.65

While MaBaTha does have interests aside from the protection of the religion from a Muslim threat, often these are not necessarily independent of that concern. These other objectives, while important, should not be overemphasised. Their overemphasis comes at the risk of detracting from the organisation’s primary activity: promoting a Buddhist conception of the nation that excludes Muslims and has been linked to fatal violence.

6.3 From Patience to Patronage: USDP-MaBaTha Brokerage The 969 movement and MaBaTha made claims on the state. In Tilly and Tarrow’s framework, these claims are both standing and program claims – they claimed that as monastics or Buddhists they had a privileged voice that must be respected, and they called upon the government to act in a certain way. These claims were backed by substantial public support. Although these claims were primarily made upon the USDP government, they had implications for any party hoping to contest the 2015 election. In the context of the changing political opportunity structures of democratic transition, the state tolerated a wide repertoire of claim-making performances from these nationalist organisations. This is despite the fact that monastic involvement in political affairs is deemed illegal by the 2008 Constitution and is also banned by a MaHaNa directive. The USDP allowed MaBaTha a lot of leniency under the law and their relationship with the nationalist movement travelled a path from patience to patronage. These interactions with the state shaped the form that MaBaTha took and the performances and claims it made. The USDP allowed the movement to make a wide range of claims upon the state.

MaBaTha’s influence on the USDP government is well illustrated by the case of the Race and Religion Protection Laws, first proposed by MaBaTha and subsequently adopted by the government. The Race and Religion Protection Laws consist of four pieces of legislation; the Religious Conversion Law, the Population Control Healthcare Law, the Buddhist Women’s Special Marriage Law and the Monogamy Law. Under the population

65 Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 190 control law, local authorities may apply to the president to implement the law in their localities if they deem “resources are unbalanced”, or note “a high population growth rate and a high birth rate”.66 On presidential approval, women must leave at least 36 month between each birth. The Buddhist Women’s Special Marriage Law requires Buddhist women to seek permission from local authorities before marrying a man from outside their religion. Failure to do so is punishable by up to three years imprisonment and a 50,000 kyat (US$36) fine. Under the Religious Conversion Law permission must be acquired for conversion, a process which involves submitting an application detailing good reasons for conversion and appearing before a township registration board. If the law is violated, one faces a maximum of two years imprisonment and a 200,000 kyat (US$150) fine. Finally, the Monogamy Law bans polygamy in Myanmar.

The UN, human rights groups and civil society groups expressed concerns about the discriminatory nature of the legislation and expressed fears the laws would violate the rights of women and minorities, particularly the Rohingya community.67 Ashin Wirathu retorted with insulting and derogatory comments towards the UN Special Rapporteur on Human Rights and labelled the local civil society groups “traitors”.68 Aung San Suu Kyi

66 Guy Dinmore and Shwe Yee Saw Myint, “President Signs Off on Population Control Law,” Myanmar Times, 25 May 2015, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/14648-president-signs-off- on-population-control-law.html. 67 OHCHR, “Myanmar: Un Expert to Assess Human Rights Situation in Rakhine and Northern Shan States,” news release, 5 January, 2015, http://www.ohchr.org/EN/NewsEvents/Pages/DisplayNews.aspx?NewsID=15464&LangID=E; Nobel Zaw, “Union Parliament Passes Population Control Bill,” The Irrawaddy, 7 April 2015, http://www.irrawaddy.org/burma/union-parliament-passes-population-control-bill.html; Salil Shetty, “Open Letter on the Four Proposed Laws Aimed at “Protecting Race and Religion”,” (Amnesty International, 14 April, 2015), https://www.amnesty.org/en/documents/asa16/1456/2015/en/; Mizzima, “Discriminatory 'Race and Religion' Bills Threaten Tensions Ahead of Elections: Aphr,” Mizzima, 22 August 2015, http://www.mizzima.com/news-election-2015-election-news/discriminatory- %E2%80%98race-and-religion%E2%80%99-bills-threaten-tensions-ahead; Matt Roebuck, “A Mass Call from Myanmar's Civil Society to Drop 'Nation, Race and Religion' Bills,” ibid., 28 January, http://archive- 3.mizzima.com/mizzima-news/myanmar/item/17277-a-mass-call-from-myanmar-s-civil-society-to-drop- nation-race-and-religion-bills/17277-a-mass-call-from-myanmar-s-civil-society-to-drop-nation-race-and- religion-bills. 68 Asian Correspondent, “Extremist Burmese Monk Wirathu Calls Un Envoy a 'Whore',” Asian Correspondent, 19 January 2015, http://asiancorrespondent.com/129936/extremist-burmese-monk- wirathu-calls-un-envoy-a-whore/; HRW, “World Report 2015: Events of 2014,” (Washington, DC: Human Rights Watch, 2015), 124, https://www.hrw.org/report/2015/01/29/world-report-2015/events-2014. 191 also criticised the laws on the basis of women’s rights, but was silent on their violation of human rights or religious freedoms.69

Regardless, the bills had significant grassroots support. The campaign for the legislation saw a petition gather over two million signatures in support of the bills, according to government spokesperson Zaw Htay.70 The petition and a request for the four pieces of legislation were submitted to President Thein Sein in July 2013.71 The president did not act on the request until February 2014, when he consulted the speaker of the house and a decision was made to have relevant government departments draft the bills.72 All four were signed into law by the president (the final step of the legislative process) by August 2015. According to one senior member of MaBaTha, the passage of this legislation was its greatest achievement – “the life of MaBaTha”.73

The USDP response to the bills was characterised by some as “how populism is being balanced with prudence”.74 Against the appeal of the NLD, the USDP appeared to have decided that their best approach before the 2015 election was to promote themselves as the guardians of Myanmar and its Buddhist character, and appeal to the nationalistic sangha for support. This can explain in part why the Thein Sein government never challenged monks who spread anti-Muslim sentiment, despite their evidently unlawful activity. Other factors were also no doubt important. Monastics have an unparalleled status in Myanmar society and carry a lot of respect. To appear to be challenging the monkhood would carry severe political risks.

The shape of an apparent informal pact between MaBaTha and the USDP became clearer in June 2015 when MaBaTha began to urge voters to boycott parties that “didn’t

69 Richard Horsey, “New Religious Legislation in Myanmar,” (SSRC Conflict Prevention and Peace Forum, 13 February, 2015), 7, http://www.burmalibrary.org/docs21/Horsey-2015-02- New_Religious_Legislation_in_Myanmar-en.pdf. 70 Hnin Yadanar Zaw and Antoni Slodkowski, “Insight - Myanmar's Radical Monks Shaping Historic Election,” Reuters, 1 November 2015, http://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-myanmar-monks-insight- idUKKCN0SQ1A020151101. 71 Horsey, “New Religious Legislation,” 2. 72 Ibid. 73 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017. 74 Horsey, “New Religious Legislation,” 2. 192 support Buddhism” in the November 2015 elections.75 Ashin Wirathu is known to not support Aung San Suu Kyi. He has alleged that she said the Race and Religion Protection Laws are against human rights, saying that “[these comments] means she is against us” and “[t]here’s no way she should run the country”.76 In June 2015, a MaBaTha secretary told monastic followers to rally support for the USDP over the NLD.77 By September, MaBaTha monastics were telling voters that it was of “dire importance” that “a political party supported by Islamists and foreign countries” did not win the election, leaving little doubt that it was the NLD in question.78

A MaBaTha representative stated that “nationalism is the aim, not support for any party”, although conceded that MaBaTha does tell supporters to “vote to support race, religion and the teachings of Buddha”. He conceded that some members may support the USDP or other parties, “because they think that the NLD is joining with the OIC [Organisation of Islamic Cooperation]”.79 This representative expressed remorse that Aung San Suu Kyi was not supporting the sangha’s campaign to protect race and religion like she had supported the participation of monks in the 2007 democracy demonstrations.80 Another MaBaTha representative said that the organisation did not support any party in 2015 but that “there is a distinct dislike of the NLD in MaBaTha”. “Compared to the NLD”, he said, “MaBaTha likes the USDP – because of the Race and Religion Protection Laws”.81

MaBaTha representatives lauded the achievements of the USDP government and President Thein Sein. One Sayadaw noted that “the reason [for political and social change in Myanmar] is U Thein Sein… he was the foundation for these changes”.82 Another Sayadaw said that “U Thein Sein saved the sasana” with support for MaBaTha’s

75 Moe Myint, “Ma Ba Tha Embraces Political Fray, Risking Election Year Sanction,” The Irrawaddy, 9 June 2015, http://www.irrawaddy.org/burma/ma-ba-tha-embraces-political-fray-risking-election-year- sanction.html. 76 Preston, “Saffron Terror.” 77 Lawi Weng, “Support Incumbents, MaBaTha Leader Tells Monks,” The Irrawaddy, 23 June 2015, http://www.irrawaddy.com/election/news/support-incumbents-ma-ba-tha-leader-tells-monks. 78 Salai Thant Zin and Zarni Mann, “MaBaTha: NLD Is the Party of “Islamists”,” ibid., 21 September, http://www.irrawaddy.com/election/news/ma-ba-tha-nld-is-the-party-of-islamists. 79 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. 80 Ibid. 81 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017. 82 MaBaTha Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 193 legislative agenda in particular, but also through his government’s “respect for religious associations, especially Buddhist ones”, more generally.83 This Sayadaw, a local MaBaTha chairperson, was disappointed that the NLD had taken over government from the USDP in 2016.

Now the new government is different from the U Thein Sein government, so most of the Sayadaws are very sad about that. But as monks, we are not interested in politics. We are fighting to protect the religion and race. We are interested in nationalism and religion, but not politics.84

The informal nature of the pact between the USDP and MaBaTha should be stressed. As suggested by the responses above, it is seen as unsuitable for monks to be involved in politics. The informal and limited nature of any pact is also illustrated by public clashes between the USDP and MaBaTha over issues such as a proposed building development near the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon.85 There were instances during the same period in which the two actors publically disagreed, and it would be simply wrong to imply that every supporter of MaBaTha also supported the USDP. McCarthy and Menager have also detailed the experience of one MaBaTha supported who did not support the USDP.86 Furthermore, prominent MaBaTha members were at the same time endorsing other political parties which supported MaBaTha’s agenda. The National Prosperity Party was formed with the support of Ashin Wirathu, who attended its opening ceremony with Ashin Parmoukka, then another leading MaBaTha monastic.87

A member of the Central Executive Committee of the USDP in northern Shan State disputed any link between the USDP and MaBaTha, and argued that “the USDP is open

83 Meiktila MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 84 Ibid. 85 Oren Samet, “The Threat of Myanmar's Extremist Monks,” New Mandala, 27 August 2015, http://www.newmandala.org/the-threat-of-myanmars-extremist-monks/. 86 Gerard McCarthy and Jacqueline Menager, “Gendered Rumours and the Muslim Scapegoat in Myanmar's Transition,” Journal of Contemporary Asia 47, no. 3 (2017): 406. 87 Salai Thant Zin, “Ma Ba Tha Leaders Open Nationalist Party Offices in Pathein,” The Irrawaddy, 7 October 2015, http://www.irrawaddy.com/election/news/ma-ba-tha-leaders-open-nationalist-party- offices-in-pathein. 194 to all, and is focused on equality and all the ethnic groups in the country”.88 He mentioned USDP members in Lashio who are “very close” with religious minorities, and noted that a former USDP MP protected a mosque and Muslim communities during communal violence in Lashio in 2013;

We want to prove that we are working on this problem. We don’t know about MaBaTha here. As you can see, the USDP would not protect the Lashio Gyi mosque if we were connected to MaBaTha! MaBaTha could come and burn our office if we protected the mosque like that. If some people have more extreme views, then maybe they have a link to MaBaTha, I don’t know. But not in Lashio.89

This USDP member alleged that the problem of hate speech and violence was caused by “outsiders” from central Myanmar. He perceived any link between the USDP and MaBaTha as incredulous, and expressed a fear of them.90

6.3.1 Seeking Support in the Sangha The USDP was also brokering other support from within the sangha. During the early stages of democratic transition USDP MP and power-broker Aung Thaung approached and requested help from one prominent Mandalay Sayadaw.91 The Sayadaw was asked to cooperate as a mediator between the transitioning government and the democratic movement across Myanmar. In return, Aung Thaung offered him “whatever he wanted”.92 When the Sayadaw asked for permission to hold a celebration for the anniversary of the 2007 Saffron Revolution, he claims he received large donations from the USDP as well as from the family of Aung Thaung for the event.93 The USDP government also provided transport, security and other services to the Sayadaw.

88 USDP Shan State (North) Central Executive Committee Member, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 11 August, 2016. 89 Ibid. 90 Ibid. 91 Prominent Mandalay Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 14 July, 2016. 92 Ibid. 93 Ibid. 195

This Sayadaw suspects that he was approached due to the fact that although he was involved in the democratic movement the government did not consider him to be as anti-military as other monks. Although he was under surveillance during the military period, he was never arrested like many of his contemporaries. “They thought I was flexible and could be negotiated with”, he noted, suggesting that the military needed the support of the sangha for their political project; “the military was holding the tail of a tiger. They wanted to let it go, but were afraid”.94 Through influential monastics, the USDP could gain support in the electorate.

Aung Thaung served as a member of the Pyithu Hluttaw from 2011 to 2015 as member the Mandalay Region constituency of Taung Tha, his birthplace.95 Formerly the Minister of Industry in the military regime, Aung Thaung and his family became among the wealthiest in Myanmar during military rule.96 He was close to former dictator Senior General Than Shwe, and it is commonly noted that the two would often meet for breakfast, a rare privilege in the Tatmadaw hierarchy.97 He is often thought to have been a key organising figure behind the Depayin massacre of 2003 which targeted democracy activists and almost resulted in the death of Aung San Suu Kyi.98 At that time, Aung San Suu Kyi’s convoy was attacked by a mob and an unknown but substantial number of people were killed.99 In 2012, President Thein Sein removed Aung Thaung from a team seeking a peace agreement with the Kachin Independence Organisation, in a move widely perceived as an attempt to marginalise hardliners. He was then subjected to United States Treasury Sanctions in October 2014, for “undermining the positive political and economic transition in Burma” and “perpetuating violence, oppression and

94 Ibid. 95 Aung Zaw, “Aung Thaung: Why Now, Why Him, and Who's Next?,” The Irrawaddy, 10 November 2014, http://www.irrawaddy.org/commentary/aung-thaung-now-whos-next.html. 96 Seamus Martov, “What Does the Future Hold for Aung Thaung & Sons?,” ibid., 3 November, www.irrawaddy.org/from-the-irrawaddy-archive-burma/future-hold-aung-thaung-sons.html. 97 Aung Zaw, “Aung Thaung: Burma's Untouchable Minister,” ibid., June 2007, http://www2.irrawaddy.org/article.php?art_id=7327. 98 Seamus Martov, “What Does the Future Hold for Aung Thaung & Sons?,” ibid., 3 November 2014, www.irrawaddy.org/from-the-irrawaddy-archive-burma/future-hold-aung-thaung-sons.html. 99 According to the Irrawaddy, the government reported five deaths while activists said that 70 had been killed. Zarni Mann, “A Decade Later, Victims Still Seeking Depayin Massacre Justice,” ibid., 31 May 2013, https://www.irrawaddy.com/news/burma/a-decade-later-victims-still-seeking-depayin-massacre- justice.html. 196 corruption”,100 fuelling speculation about his involvement in the Buddhist nationalist movement and communal violence. In July 2015 Aung Thaung suffered a cerebral haemorrhage and was flown to hospital in Singapore, where he passed away.

There was much speculation about a formal link between the USDP and the Buddhist nationalist movement after Aung Thaung visited Ashin Wirathu in a well-publicised May 2012 meeting. The meeting occurred the day following the rape and murder in Kyauk Ni Maw, Rakhine State.101 Both Aung Thaung and Ashin Wirathu denied any substantial link between them, and both stated that after the 2012 meeting there was no further contact.102 The aforementioned Sayadaw successfully recruited by Aung Thaung, however, believed that the USDP had also used monks such as Ashin Wirathu for their political agenda.103 There has been other speculation about links between high-ranking members of the USDP and MaBaTha, including a line of communication between President Thein Sein and Ashin Wirathu via the Mandalay Chief Minister.104 Min Zin claims that the Union government has encouraged Chief Ministers to build “Sayar Dagar Setsanye” (patron-client relationships) with MaBaTha monastics.105 This is not surprising, as relations between the government and influential monastics fit a long- established pattern in Myanmar politics.

Under the USDP government these relationships legitimised anti-Muslim sentiment and gave free reign to those inciting and committing violence against Muslims. It was evident to Buddhist nationalists that the government had given them free reign to do as they pleased. “By letting us give speeches to protect our religion and race, I assume they are supporting us”, said Ashin Wimala.106 Indeed, monastics in Mandalay noted that under the USDP government it was very easy for MaBaTha to get permission from authorities to hold public sermons, even when others were denied.107 Then Religious Affairs

100 Department of the Treasury, “Announcment of Treasury Sanctions against Aung Thaung,” news release, 31 October, 2014, http://www.treasury.gov/press-center/press-releases/Pages/JL2680.aspx. 101 Van Klinken and Su Mon Thazin Aung, “The Contentious Politics of Anti-Muslim Scapegoating in Myanmar,” 367. 102 Sanay Lin, “Head to Head.”; Preston, “Saffron Terror.” 103 Prominent Mandalay Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 14 July, 2016. 104 Min Zin, “Anti-Muslim Violence in Burma,” 388. 105 Ibid., 383. 106 Marshall, “Myanmar's Offical Embrace.” 107 Buddhist Monks, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 July, 2016. 197

Minister U Sann Sint also expressed sympathy for the organisation in 2013. “I don’t think they are preaching to make problems,” he told media.108 In another case of apparent state support in Bago in April 2013, a Muslim man was sued by a police chief for the offense of removing a 969 sticker from a betel nut shop. He was sentenced to two years in prison for outraging religious feelings.109 Min Zin has argued that attempts to grasp success in the 2015 election in “a strengthened constituency based on Burman-Buddhist parochialism have tempted both hardliners and so-called reformists toward taking advantage of anti-Muslim conflict”.110 Evidently, the movement had at least implicit support from the state.

One monastic in Mandalay reported that he had previously been approached by a member of MaBaTha and was requested to join the organisation in return for cash and other material benefits. He was required to “preach hate speech against other religions, in particular Muslims, and to make trouble for the NLD”.111 He believes he was approached because he was well-known for participating in the 2007 anti-government protests and subsequently spending time in prison.112

Some of the most serious allegations about ties between the USDP and Buddhist nationalist organisations came in the aftermath of the assassination of well-known lawyer and NLD member U Ko Ni, who was also Muslim, in January 2017. Authorities determined that the motivation for the murder was “extreme patriotism” on behalf of those who arranged the killing – two former military officers.113 Police have confirmed that USDP parliamentarian Lwin Zaw Tun was with the culprits in a tea shop in Yangon when the plan to kill U Ko Ni was hatched, although he himself is not a suspect in the case and has denied allegations he was involved.114 Lwin Zaw Tun was a friend one of

108 Marshall, “Myanmar's Offical Embrace.” 109 Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence,” 199. 110 Min Zin, “Anti-Muslim Violence in Burma,” 389. 111 Buddhist Monks, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 July, 2016. 112 Ibid. 113 Mratt Kyaw Thu, “'Patriotism' Behind U Ko Ni Assassination, Says Minister,” Frontier Myanmar, 25 February 2017, http://frontiermyanmar.net/en/patriotism-behind-u-ko-ni-assassination-says-minister; Htoo Thant, “Mp Threatens Lawsuit against Murder Speculators,” The Irrawaddy, 28 February 2017, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/nay-pyi-taw/25118-mp-threatens-lawsuit-against- murder-speculators.html. 114 Mratt Kyaw Thu, “'Patriotism' Behind U Ko Ni Assassination.” 198 the accused – the two graduated in the same batch of officers from Myanmar’s prestigious Defence Services Academy.115 In September 2015 Lwin Zaw Tun donated 40 million kyat (approximately $US30,000) to MaBaTha. The donation was accepted by Ashin Wirathu and publicised widely.116

6.3.2 The USDP and the Construction of a Muslim Threat As considered above, Muslims were increasingly constructed as outside of, and a threat to, ideas of the Myanmar nation during the period of military rule. The USDP government was also involved in the construction of such a threat during their term in government under democratic transition. Concerns about an internal threat from Muslims heightened the perceived need for a strong party in government (in this case the USDP with military backing). It also provided MaBaTha with fuel for its campaign for the protection of Buddhism in the rejection of the NLD and support for the USDP.

Following the first instances of violence in 2012 in Rakhine State, then director of the President’s Office Zaw Htay posted to Facebook;

It is heard that Rohingya Terrorists of the so-called Rohingya Solidarity Organization are crossing the border and getting into the country with the weapons. That is Rohingyas from other countries are coming into the country. Since our Military has got the news in advance, we will eradicate them until the end! I believe we are already doing it… we don’t want to hear any humanitarian issues or human rights from others. Besides, we neither want to hear any talk of justice nor want anyone to teach us like a saint.117

This quote not only reflects entrenched Islamophobia in government, but also serves to construct Muslims – this case Rohingya Muslims – as a threat. The term “Rohingya” is conflated with a minority within the group who commit violence. It also infers that those

115 Htoo Thant, “MP Threatens Lawsuit.” 116 Wa Lone, “USDP Candidate Donates Big to MaBaTha,” ibid., 3 September 2015, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/16287-usdp-candidate-donates-big-to-ma-ba- tha.html. 117 Joseph Allchin, “The Rohingya, Myths and Misinformation,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 22 June 2012, http://www.dvb.no/analysis/the-rohingya-myths-and-misinformation/22597. 199 who believe in human rights would be unable to protect the nation, a reference to the NLD. Similar comments are made by other representatives of government. Even after charging two ex-military men for the assassination of lawyer U Ko Ni in 2017, police suggested to reporters that they could not discount that the murder may have been carried out by members of the Muslim community.118

Under the USDP government, a number of people (up to 100 according to some reports), were arrested and accused of belonging to an armed group called the Myanmar Muslim Army. An unknown number have been jailed.119 Serious doubts have been raised over the existence of such a group by security experts, and the families of those arrested have protested their innocence.120 It has been reported that the prosecution failed to produce any evidence in court, instead simply telling the court room that they had received evidence about the allegations “from above”.121 The defence lawyer for several of the accused asked the police chief in court “when did they [the Myanmar Muslim Army] start? Where is their headquarters? Where are their training bases? And so on”, but the police chief could not answer and admitted that he did not know.122 The lawyer believes that the aim of this “fake story” from the USDP government was to “discredit Muslims generally in Myanmar”, and to “show the international community the risk of Islamic State in Myanmar”.123 Since the NLD came to power, there has been no mention of the alleged group by the government, although cases were continuing in court in July 2016.124

As well as courting Buddhist nationalists and supporting their exclusive conceptions of the Myanmar nation, the USDP contributed to a construction of a Muslim threat during this period of democratic transition. This sent a strong signal of support to nationalists, and had profound consequences for Muslims during this period. The construction of an

118 Mratt Kyaw Thu, “'Patriotism' Behind U Ko Ni Assassination.” 119 Khin Su Wai, “Dozen Convicted in ‘Muslim Army’ Trial,” The Irrawaddy, 8 December 2015, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/mandalay-upper-myanmar/18022-dozen- convicted-in-muslim-army-trial.html. 120 Galache and Pedrosa, “In Myanmar, Muslims Arrested.” 121 Fortify Rights, “Myanmar: Fair Trial Denied in “Muslim Army” Case, Torture Alleged,” Fortify Rights, 6 November 2015, http://www.fortifyrights.org/publication-20151206.html. 122 Mandalay-Based Lawyer, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 123 Ibid. 124 Ibid. 200 imminent threat from a domestic Muslim insurgency in Myanmar may also have discredited the NLD in the eyes of some voters. The narrative appealed to concerns that the party was too close with Muslims and favoured human rights at the cost of national security.

6.4 The Rakhine Nexus The loose alliance between the USDP and MaBaTha also connected with another vital set of actors – Rakhine nationalists and political parties. As noted, the RNDP held a majority of elected seats in the state parliament after the 2010 election, although they did not have a majority once the allocated seats for the military were considered. The RNDP indicated shortly after the 2010 election that they were willing to work with the USDP for the development of Rakhine State, and Aung Thaung extended an olive branch to the party.125 Dr Aye Maung even suggested “a local power-brokering deal” may be on the table.126

The relationship between the RNDP/ANP and USDP was strained during the period of government, however, and USDP parliamentarians in the union legislature were said to find the Rakhine MPs to be too “extreme” in their views.127 The relationship soured early, when in 2011 when then MP retired Major General Maung Oo, former Home Affairs Minister and Regional Commander in Rakhine State under the SPDC government, insulted the Rakhine people and political parties.128 Several issues created contention between the parties throughout this period of government, including; unaddressed issues of land confiscation and related resource projects that had begun under the former military government; decentralisation of power to state parliaments; the

125 Thein Zaw, “USDP Ministers Reach out to RNDP,” Mizzima, 26 November 2010, https://web.archive.org/web/20101206220437/http://mizzima.com/news/election-2010-/4614-usdp- ministers-reach-out-to-rndp-lawmakers-elect.html. 126 Htet Aung Kyaw, “Burma's New Leaders Court Arakan Party,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 30 November 2010, http://www.dvb.no/elections/burma%E2%80%99s-new-leaders-court-arakan- party/13135. See also, BNI, “Narinjara: Two Elected Ministers Meet RNDP Delegates,” Burma News International, 27 November 2010, http://e-archive.bnionline.net/index.php/news/narinjara/9859-two- elected-ministers-meet-rndp-delegates.html. 127 Kean, “Religious Conflict and Myanmar's Parliament: The Silence in the House,” 57. 128 Mizzima, ““The Rakhine People Will Not Support Our Rival Party”,” Mizzima, 26 July 2011, http://archive-1.mizzima.com/opinion/interviews/5672-the-rakhine-people-will-not-support-our-rival- party. 201 government’s attempts to verify the citizenship status of Muslims in Rakhine State; and lingering ill-feeling regarding the USDP’s distribution of white cards before the 2010 election.

The RNDP/ANP were motivated in part to broker relations with MaBaTha in order to influence the USDP. Pedersen notes that “by presenting themselves as defenders of the country’s “Western door”, Rakhine nationalists have been able to generate widespread sympathy and support from Buddhists elsewhere in the country.”129 An important part of this was brokerage with Buddhist nationalist organisations. Perhaps the first case which brought this to light, as noted by van Klinken and Su Mon Thazin Aung, was the campaign against the proposal for the OIC to open a mission in Myanmar.130 Opposition to the mission was expressed as early as September 2012 in a public meeting in Sittwe.131 Before the end of the year Buddhist nationalists had mobilised thousands to demonstrate against the OIC in Yangon and Mandalay, forcing the President’s Office to cancel the previously announced mission.132 The RNDP/ANP and MaBaTha were beginning to demonstrate the influence they could hold over the USDP government.

The mobilisation of the RNDP/ANP-MaBaTha relationship and its propensity to affect USDP policy was again glaringly obvious in the disenfranchisement of Temporary Registration Certificate (“white card”) holders, most of who were Rohingya. It was first proposed by the RNDP/ANP and was vocally supported by MaBaTha, and eventually the USDP government. The expulsion of white card holders from the political process was gradual. The RNDP spoke of its objective to disenfranchise white card holders via amendments to election laws as early as mid-2013.133 Dr Aye Maung was quoted as saying; “If we give Bengalis political rights, we will lose control of the region ... Bengalis living peacefully in Rakhine have the right to work and the right to move freely, but they should not have the right to vote.”134 The first legislative action was in September 2014,

129 Pedersen, “Myanmar in 2014: Tacking against the Wind,” 235. 130 Van Klinken and Su Mon Thazin Aung, “The Contentious Politics of Anti-Muslim Scapegoating in Myanmar,” 361. 131 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 8. 132 Ibid. 133 Bill O'Toole, “RNDP Pushes to Tighten Voting Eligibility Criteria,” The Myanmar Times, 18 August 2013, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/7888-rndp-pushes-to-tighten-voting- eligibility-criteria.html. 134 Ibid. 202 when President Thein Sein enacted an amendment, submitted to parliament by the ANP, prohibiting white card holders from being members of political parties.135 In October the lower house of parliament passed legislation to the effect that white card holders were not able to vote in a proposed but not-to-be May 2015 referendum. It is worth noting that while the original bill gave white card holders the vote, this was removed following an unchallenged proposal from NLD representative Daw Khin San Hlaing.136 The legislation did not pass both houses of parliament until early February 2015, however. By that time voting rights for white card holders had been added back into the bill, upon the request of the president, and to the disappointment of Rakhine MPs.137 It remains unknown why the president and USDP were insistent on giving white card holders the vote, given that Rohingya communities would most likely vote for the NLD over the USDP. Was the president under the impression that they would support the USDP as they had done in 2010? Or was he attempting to push back against the rising tide of Islamophobic nationalism?

The president’s position quickly changed, however, following a backlash from Buddhist nationalists who once again demonstrated their capacity to mobilise crowds.138 Nationalist groups planned a week of demonstrations, and Ashin Wirathu released a public statement the day after the legislation was passed warning that if white card holders were allowed to vote he would “lead in meting out the retribution”.139 MaBaTha leader Ashin Parmoukka also framed the white card issue as a threat to religion, saying “[w]e will do what we should be doing to any government or any organization that harms the nation and [will ensure] religion in this country does not disappear”.140 Less

135 Ei Ei Toe Lwin, “White Card-Holders Cut from Voting in Referendum,” ibid., 24 November 2014, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/12372-white-card-holders-cut-from-voting-in- referendum.html. 136 Ibid. 137 Lawi Weng, “‘White Card’ Holders Eligible to Vote on Constitutional Reform,” The Irrawaddy, 3 February 2015, https://www.irrawaddy.com/news/burma/white-card-holders-eligible-vote- constitutional-reform.html. 138 Hanna Hindstrom, “Burma's Favorite Scapegoat,” Foreign Policy, 26 February 2015, http://foreignpolicy.com/2015/02/26/burmas-favorite-scapegoat/; Usaid Siddiqui, “Myanmar's Buddhist Terrorism Problem,” Al Jazeera America, 18 February 2015, http://america.aljazeera.com/opinions/2015/2/myanmars-buddhist-terrorism-problem.html. 139 Yen Snaing, “Weeks of Protests Planned against Suffrage for White Card Holders,” The Irrawaddy, 5 February 2015, http://www.irrawaddy.org/burma/week-protests-planned-suffrage-white-card- holders.html. 140 Ibid. 203 than a week after passing the legislation, President Thein Sein announced that all white cards would expire on 31 March 2015, disenfranchising the Rohingya community and other holders of white cards.141

U Shwe Maung identifies as Rohingya and represented the northern Rakhine State constituency of Buthidaung in the Pyithu Hluttaw between 2011 and 2016. He told media that “the move to disenfranchise white card holders was a reflection of the increased political influence of Rakhine politicians and activists as well as hardline monks”, as told by Mizzima news.142 It appears that the USDP had resigned its hopes of receiving votes from the Rohingya communities in northern Rakhine State by this time. Instead, they were appealing to Buddhist nationalists for support. The case of the white- cards shows this engagement. Brokerage between the RNDP/ANP and MaBaTha had been successful, and this powerful grouping could exercise strong influence over the USDP and its policy.

6.5 Conclusion This chapter has traced the constitution of Buddhist nationalist actors in Myanmar during democratic transition and the mechanism of brokerage between such actors and the state. This is another process crucial to mobilisation, as actor constitution encourages a greater sense of group identity. Rakhine nationalist organisations and political parties organised in response to both the opportunity of a more open political system and to perceived threats of a Muslim threat to Rakhine identity and interests. The Buddhist nationalist movement in greater Myanmar, primarily in the form of the 969 movement before the more institutionalised MaBaTha, responded to similar threats and drew on the conflict in Rakhine State in their rationale. Although MaBaTha also cites

141 While Rohingya in northern Rakhine State constituted the vast majority of white card holders, some Myanmar of Chinese or Indian descent also carried white cards. Nyein Nyein, “Govt Revokes Voting Rights for ‘White Card’ Holders,” ibid., 12 February, https://www.irrawaddy.com/news/burma/govt- revokes-voting-rights-white-card-holders.html. 142 Tim McLaughlin, “A Presidential Challenge to the Politics of Exclusion?,” Mizzima, 7 January 2015, http://archive-3.mizzima.com/opinion/features/item/16604-a-presidential-challenge-to-the-politics-of- exclusion/16604-a-presidential-challenge-to-the-politics-of-exclusion. 204 concerns about threats to Buddhism that are unrelated to a Muslim threat, the movement was very much mobilised in response to perceived threats from Muslims.

There are two important instances of brokerage surveyed in this chapter. Both contributed to the strengthening of the Buddhist nationalist movement. The first case of brokerage was between MaBaTha and the USDP. A loose coalition was evidently formed before the 2015 elections. The USDP tolerated the activities of the nationalists, even when they appeared to be illegal. There were some indications that the USDP was reluctant to overtly support the nationalist organisation. However, to challenge the powerful sangha carried political dangers which were perceived to be too high. Eventually, the USDP endorsed MaBaTha and went into the 2015 elections campaigning on a nationalist platform, presenting the party as the protectors of Buddhism and national security. Second was the brokerage of the relationship between Rakhine nationalists, primarily represented by the RNDP then the ANP, and Buddhist nationalists in greater Myanmar, in the form of MaBaTha. These actors shared concerns about both Muslims in Myanmar and the NLD. Their relationship was evident through their collaboration in making demands on the USDP government to restrict the political, economic and social activities of Muslims. These alliances have been shown through analysis of the cases of the Race and Religion Protection Laws and the disenfranchisement of white card holders.

The loose nature of the USDP-MaBaTha alliance has been stressed in this chapter. There were instances during the same period in which the two actors publically disagreed, and not every supporter of MaBaTha also supported the USDP. Rather, the USDP patronised the organisation in an attempt to win votes. Similarly, MaBaTha supported the USDP because it had supported legislation and policies backed by nationalists with an objective to protect Buddhism. On 8 November 2015 the loose coalition of Buddhist nationalists and the USDP could not compete with the popularity of the NLD and failed to harvest votes at the ballot box.

The promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism by elites is one of three factors necessary for communal violence during this period of democratic transition in Myanmar. The role of elites in forming collective actors has been detailed. Elites did very

205 little to hinder the strengthening of exclusive conceptions of the nation and were central to the ongoing construction of Muslims as a threat. The dynamics of democratic transition created the conditions for cooperation between these diverse actors. Furthermore, elites framed their actions around the spectre of communal violence. Democratic transition influenced communal violence, but communal violence also influenced the transition. The USDP’s period in government created an environment in which political parties failed to challenge the influence of members of the sangha who spread anti-Muslim sentiment and were often implicated in the instigation of anti- Muslim violence. It appeared increasingly evident that the USDP was supporting anti- Muslim violence, and the conditions and mechanisms responsible for producing violence remained in place.

206

Chapter 7: Interpretation: Blame Displacement and Replication Communal violence occurs for multiple reasons and concerns multiple actors who act with various motivations. This makes multiple interpretations of the violence possible both during and after the fact. It is invariably the case, however, that in the aftermath of violence, the diverse reasons for violence are reduced to one or more dominant interpretations. This thesis introduces the process of interpretation to the contentious politics literature. Brass has previously noted that interpretation is a crucial process in any episode of communal violence, and that the interpretation of violence in divided societies will inevitably be contested.1 Violence is “transformed into something bigger and more “meaningful” through interpretation after the event”, he notes.2 This is certainly true for the case of communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar, where instances with perhaps little “communal” characteristics have been reinterpreted to fit into a broader narrative during and after the event. In the context of the historical institutionalist argument of this thesis, this chapter is most concerned with the promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism by elites in their construction of interpretations of the violence, but also reflects existing exclusive constructions of the political community and the mobilisation of non-elites for violence.

It will be argued in this chapter that the dominant interpretations which emerged after communal violence in Myanmar aligned with and reproduced the dominant narratives in which they were situated, reflecting the historical institutional explanation. The interpretations which become dominant after the violence do so due to their ability to reproduce an existing discourse and the power structures which accompany it. Duncan has noted that the interpretation of violence which becomes dominant after the fact is one which fits with existing narratives and reflects what people already believe.3 Similarly, Brass has argued that an analysis of the process of interpretation will identify “the power relations that are expressed through” dominant narratives – narratives

1 Brass, Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence, 14-15. 2 Ibid., 12. 3 Duncan, Violence and Vengeance: Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia, 66. 207 which are “no more or less valid than other equally coherent explanations”.4 The uncovering of the construction of such dominant narratives, he argues, “selectively reveals and hides local power relations from view”.5 A major consequence of how violence is interpreted is the displacement of blame.6 This also serves to reproduce the mechanisms which produce violence. The argument found in this thesis is not only that an analysis of the process of interpretation reveals power structures, but that the process of interpretation itself often reproduces these existing structures. This is evident in the dominant narratives of the violence in Myanmar.

Some four dominant explanations of the violence recurred in interviews for this research and will be summarised and analysed in this chapter. These explanations are; communal explanations, reflecting essentialist notions of difference between communities; political explanations, which argue that the violence took place for political gain; economic interpretations of the violence which state that the violence was conducted for material gain; and explanations of the state as discriminatory, which argue that the government orchestrated the violence with a intent to disadvantage Muslims or with intent of genocide. These four categories are approximate, and many respondents drew upon more than one of these. It will also be shown that “economic” explanations of the violence actually reflected communal discourses.7 The state’s interpretations of the violence and its rhetoric in the context of democratic transition will also be analysed. The dominant explanations and the state’s response contributed to the displacement of blame, and resulted in little sanction for those who perpetrated or instigated violence.

Additionally, this chapter will show that different narratives emerge in different levels of scale and in different communities. What is interpreted locally as a conflict with very local causes can be interpreted nationally as a national conflict. This was the case across Myanmar. In the locations studied in this thesis, there were local explanations for the violence cited by respondents. These explanations looked to local factors such as new building developments, land disputes, economic competition, crimes or disputes

4 Brass, Theft of an Idol: Text and Context in the Representation of Collective Violence, 61. 5 Ibid. 6 The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 16. 7 Brass has made a similar observation in the context of India. Ibid., 215. 208 between individuals, or medium to long term migration patterns. Nationally, the same violence fell into narratives of political manoeuvring in Naypyidaw and of a clash of religious communities with consequences for the nation. While this contrast exists for each case of violence in the period, it will be shown to be most stark in the case of Sittwe. Finally, it should not be surprising that the interpretations of the violence were different in different communities at the local level. The violence was placed into different narratives of threat which appealed to different audiences. The aim of this chapter is not to suggest that any explanation was more or less correct than any other, although problems with explanations will be identified. This chapter will instead focus on explaining why these particular explanations became dominant where they did, and how they served to replicate the violence and hinder solutions or otherwise. Finally, as argued throughout this thesis, this chapter will show that while democratic transition had implications for communal violence, communal violence also impacted the trajectory of the democratic transition during this period. The interpretation of violence was central to this.

7.1 Communal Explanations Many explanations for communal violence encountered during this research reflected a discourse of communalism which essentialised the other and made primordial claims about the violence. Nationally, this discourse could be said to be the dominant explanation for the violence, although the allocation of blame to the state was also very common. Often, these explanations were given in tandem.

A narrative which frames Muslims as aggressors and Rakhine as simply defending themselves, their community and identity was heard repeatedly during interviews in Sittwe. “Muslims wanted to start the conflict. But Rakhine people did not want violence, they wanted stability. But kula wanted to create conflict in a violent fashion”, said a Rakhine minor political party leader.8 A civil society leader argued that Rakhine did not

8 Rakhine Minor Political Party Chairperson, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016. 209 have any leadership or organisation during the violence and “were just living normally”.9 Similarly, the MaBaTha chairperson in Thandwe argued that the Kyauk Ni Maw rape and murder case caused “some Buddhists to develop hatred and nationalism”.10 One Sayadaw credited Rakhine people for their patience with Muslims, and for preventing the total destruction of Aung Mingalar quarter. “Many more Muslims would have been killed by Rakhine if the Rakhine didn’t have patience”, he suggested.11 This attitude was also reflected in other interviews. “According to our religion we must be patient with the Muslims, even though they fought with our people. We cannot kill anyone, as we would break the Buddhist rules”, said one man, “some people have some communication with Muslims, but not much. Only some people, because the Rakhine give sympathy to them”.12

This essentialised notion of both Muslim and Buddhist communities was particularly evident in the response of one women’s rights activist. Her explanation for the violence was primarily primordial, arguing that “wherever you have different people living together” there is conflict.13 When she first heard of the violence she says she could not believe it, and worried “how could Rakhine control their emotions, when they don’t have the knowledge and education”.14 During this discussion Rakhine were also characterised as “honest”, while Muslims were characterised as dishonest, and it was alleged that they had burnt down their own houses during the violence in order to win aid from the international community – a common allegation in Myanmar.15 Muslims were also said to lack education, and to be easily manipulated by extremists. It was frequently heard that Muslims lack education and are therefore difficult to live alongside. A MaBaTha monastic in Mandalay also stated that “educated Muslims are okay for communication and understanding, but there are also people in that religion

9 Rakhine Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 10 Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 11 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 12 Sittwe Rakhine Village Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 13 Rakhine Women's Rights Activist, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 3 March, 2016. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid. 210 who are unemployed and uneducated so are not okay for communication between religious communities”.16 In this narrative, construction of Rakhine or Buddhists generally as peaceful but easily incited into some kind of crime of passion in defence of their religion is used to displace blame for acts of violence and destruction.

Within Rakhine communities in Sittwe, the dominant explanations for the violence were that Muslim communities organised and perpetrated the violence of June 2012. Explanations of this type refer to Muslims or Rohingya as a monolithic group and reflect a polarisation deepened in the years of segregation following the violence of 2012. In one focus group, a respondent said that “the Muslims wanted to create the conflict, and this is the main reason for the conflict”.17 This claim is based in the same narratives and stereotypes of a Muslim or Rohingya threat to Rakhine interests discussed in Chapter 4 of this thesis. Two village administrators claimed that “the conflict happed due to the agenda of Muslims. They occupy our land and rape Rakhine girls”.18 The Muslim communities attacked Rakhine “because they have a master plan, and they want an autonomous area”, according to a civil society leader in Sittwe.19

While the violence in Sittwe is remembered through this lens of a Rohingya threat to Rakhine land, for many outside of Rakhine State the violence was interpreted through the lens of a Muslim threat to the Buddhist identity of Myanmar.20 This illustrates how the same violence has multiple interpretations. This communal discourse is very evident, for instance, in the following response from the Meiktila MaBaTha Chairperson, a monastic who expressed his belief that “Islam has a long term ambition to destroy Buddhism” and constructed Muslims as fundamentally different from Buddhists and others.

Muslims are different, in particular. Although we also have Christians and Hindus here, it is the Muslims who are different. Hindus and Christians are good.

16 MaBaTha Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 17 Sittwe Rakhine IDP Camp Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 18 Rakhine Village Administrators, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 19 Rakhine Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 20 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017. 211

But Islam is not acceptable. There are problems. People are welcome in Christian, Hindu and Buddhist monasteries and churches, but are never allowed into the Muslim mosque. Shops around the mosque are not allowed to have Bamar owners. I am a Buddhist, so I do not hate, I don’t hate Islam. But I hate extremists, and most extremists are Muslims. I don’t teach to hate, I teach to be careful. Buddhists are not extreme. I don’t teach to kill Muslims.21

Essentialised notions of other religious communities were not limited to responses from Buddhist nationalist organisations, however. A monastic who spoke of harmony and helped to prevent violence against Muslims in Mandalay in 2014 made the following characterisations of Muslims;

In the 1990s, I myself also spoke about nationalism and taught to be scared of Muslims. I had heard that Muslims want to influence Buddhism and are paid to marry Buddhist women and so on. I agree now that in the world Muslims are a danger. In the past, Burmese Muslims had lived peacefully. Then the British brought Muslims from India and discriminated against Burmese Muslims. When I say Muslims are a danger, I don’t mean all, but some. They don’t like freedom of religion. If one wants to convert out of Islam, they threaten him with swords. In the past, it was democracy and communism fighting. Now the enemy of democracy is Muslims. They are becoming more extreme, globally. Muslims also hate freedom of expression, and attack the media. They will oppose democracy, globally. 22

These allegations are based in a narrative of Islam as a threat globally, and fears of Muslims in Myanmar are placed in that context for many as noted in Chapter 5. Other essentialised notions about Muslims were often repeated by different actors. These included notions that any place where Muslims live will have trouble, that if the Muslim population becomes larger than a small minority then Muslims begin to demand rights and opportunities disproportionate to what they are deemed to be entitled to, and that

21 Meiktila MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 6 September, 2016. 22 Prominent Mandalay Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 14 July, 2016. 212

“not all Muslims are terrorists, but all terrorists are Muslim”. These were most commonly repeated by representatives of MaBaTha, but also repeated by other members of the sangha and civil society, and are shared widely on social media across Myanmar.

Other communal interpretations were based in a local or national context and also involved essentialist notions of Buddhists as well as Muslims. According to one Meiktila- based Sayadaw, the killing of a monk during violence there in 2013 was taken as an insult to Buddhism. “When they heard the news, everyone who loved their religion came to town”, he said, referring to those who perpetrated the violence.23 This response infers that many Buddhists have strong feelings towards Buddhism and are hot-blooded when it is under threat or insulted. This is also a form of blame displacement, removing blame from the perpetrators of the violence and allocating it to another community – Muslims – who are told to bear the responsibility for aggravating Buddhists. This response excuses perpetrators of violence as simply standing up for the protection of their religion.

A communal discourse and primordial explanations for the violence were common in the interpretations of the violence and have been summarised here. The process of polarisation is also evident in these responses. Its recurrence here illustrates that the contentious processes of communal violence are dynamic, occur simultaneously and interact with each other. These views sit within a discourse about Muslims which is based on exclusive interpretations of the Myanmar nation. The negative characterisations of Muslims seen in these responses do reflect widespread sentiment in Myanmar and are an obstacle to preventing future violence and the maintenance of broader social harmony. This discourse is deeply entrenched in Myanmar and is very difficult to challenge. As noted earlier, many of the respondents in this research are religious, community and political leaders who influence the views of many others. In particular, it is very difficult for anyone in Myanmar to challenge the views of religious leaders.

23 Meiktila-Based Sayadaw, interview, Meiktila Township, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 September, 2016. 213

7.2 Economic Explanations Economic arguments have been made to explain communal violence both by respondents and in the literature. Typically, economic explanations for the violence claim that the violence took place either to benefit one communal group at the expense of the other, or to allow elites or other individuals to access economic opportunities at the expense of those affected by the violence. These are instrumentalist explanations which posit that identity is used as a cover for economic interests. These claims and their shortcomings will be summarised here, before a brief discussion of the value of these economic explanations.

It was heard in every case study location that the violence took place because of jealousy towards Muslims’ economic success and in an attempt to even the competition and take business from Muslims. It was suggested that the violence was instigated or perpetrated by individuals who wanted a greater share of the economy. In one location, there was strong evidence of the aftermath of violence being used for economic gain. An influential businessman, who was also the secretary of the local MaBaTha chapter, was alleged to have used his contacts in the government to prohibit Muslims from travelling freely in and out of the town following communal violence there.24 This hindered Muslims’ capabilities to do business and to get education, as there is no university in this small town.25

Brass has noted that economic explanations such as these obscure the mechanisms which produce violence, and instead appeal to notions of human nature’s capability for violence and greed.26 These interpretations of the violence do scapegoat the violence to impulses of greed or jealousy. The looting of businesses during the violence in Myanmar does suggest that some individuals became involved for short-term economic gain. There is also evidence that individual actors took economic advantage of the violence after the fact. However, these arguments are never purely economic. Although often

24 Document on file with the author. 25 James T Davies, “Segregation and Violence in Rakhine State,” New Mandala, 21 February 2017, http://www.newmandala.org/segregation-violence-rakhine-state/. 26 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 307. 214 presented as economic explanations, communalism is a common theme in these responses. If it is asked why Muslim businesses were targeted instead of Buddhist competitors, why Muslims’ land was cleared for resources projects, or why Muslims’ trade was restricted and not that of other communities in the wake of the violence, then it becomes clear that such economic explanations have a strong communalist strand. Thus, while many of these are presented as economic explanations, they actually reflect a communal discourse.

Muslim respondents often mentioned an intention to take land from Muslim communities as a factor behind the violence in Rakhine State. A Kaman political leader in Yangon argued that the USDP and military planned the violence to facilitate the Shwe Gas pipeline.27 In a Kaman village, one respondent noted that “Rakhine people are trying to influence Muslim people because they believe this land is Rakhine land”.28 The Rohingya political leader in Sittwe also argued that the violence took place “for racial purposes, to take our lands”, and that “the Rakhine want to control the land, they hate Muslims”.29 That is, there were economic drivers behind the violence, but also along communal lines.

The suggestion that the violence took place to confiscate land from Rohingya communities has also been made by Sassen, who suggests that identity has been used instrumentally to draw attention away from the economic motivations.30 The evidence presented, however, remains weak and problematic, as discussed by Jones.31 Perhaps most problematic is the fact that the Shwe Gas pipeline in Kyauk Phyu Township, the main evidence presented by Sassen, cannot explain violence towards Muslim communities elsewhere in Rakhine State or elsewhere in Myanmar.32

While these economic explanations do have several weaknesses, they do highlight important aspects of the violence. There are economic aspects to the conflict in Rakhine

27 Kaman Community Leader, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 24 February, 2016. 28 Sittwe Kaman Village Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 29 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 30 Sassen, “The Assault on the Rohingya Is Not Only About Religion — It’s Also About Land.” 31 Lee Jones, “A Better Political Economy of the Rohingya Crisis,” New Mandala, 26 September 2017, http://www.newmandala.org/better-political-economy-rohingya-crisis/. 32 Ibid. 215

State and in Myanmar more generally. As discussed earlier in this thesis, many of the Rakhine grievances towards the Myanmar government are based in the economic exploitation and denigration of Rakhine State. Political transition and the economic opportunity it appears to promise may create incentives for communities or elites to reclaim valuable land, as suggested by Charney.33 This may well be part of why Muslim communities have been blocked from entering Rakhine State’s bustling capital of Sittwe, or other towns. There is an important economic aspect to segregation since 2012 which cannot be overlooked.

Furthermore, there is also a continuity running through these explanations which reflects the historical construction of Muslim communities as a threat, and in this case an economic threat. As noted earlier in this thesis, South Asians dominated the economy during the colonial period, and discontent over this issue was capitalised on by the nationalist movement then. Perceptions of Muslims in Myanmar as rich, greedy or predatory have been perpetuated and widespread in recent decades.34 Fears of economic domination by Muslims in a post-transition Myanmar have been used by the contemporary Buddhist nationalist movement to justify the economic isolation of Muslims.

Any explanation based solely on economic factors, however, has severe shortcomings. In particular it cannot explain why certain communities are targeted in violence and not others. Why are the Rohingya targeted in violence in Rakhine State, for example? There are also questions as to why Kaman communities – a recognised taing-yintha identity – are also excluded, but why this is not extended to other minorities of other religions or ethnicities. Importantly, Prasse-Freeman has suggested a nuanced explanation which highlights some of the economic aspects of democratic transition and communal violence, suggesting that economic disenfranchisement in a period of rapid change has made violence against minorities an efficient method of strengthening national identity

33 Michael Charney and Eaint Thiri Thu, Video and Transcript of Charney Cornell Talk, “Rohingya Crisis” on History, Migrants, Refugees, Ethnicity, and the State in Myanmar (Academia.com2017), https://www.academia.edu/35716233/Video_and_transcript_of_Charney_Cornell_talk_Rohingya_Crisis _on_history_migrants_refugees_ethnicity_and_the_state_in_Myanmar. 34 See, for example, McCarthy and Menager, “Gendered Rumours and the Muslim Scapegoat in Myanmar's Transition.”; Nyi Nyi Kyaw, “Islamophobia in Buddhist Myanmar: The 969 Movement and Anti-Muslim Violence.” 216 and accessing resources.35 Indeed, communal and national identity cannot be ignored. These aspects of the conflict in Rakhine State and in wider Myanmar suggest a strong drive to establish a local or national identity based on one dominant communal identity. This cannot be explained by land or elite business interests. On an individual level, there is some evidence that people did become involved in the violence for economic reasons. However, there is no evidence to suggest that this was a particularly decisive factor in any case of violence, or for a plurality of people who were involved in the violence. While economic factors at democratic transition may have heightened the urgency to reclaim land from Muslim communities, the primary factor here is communal identity. Economic explanations can be useful to highlight certain aspects of the violence and segregation but there remains much that they cannot explain.

7.3 Political Explanations Political explanations of the violence were also common. These took various forms, but most frequently argued that the USDP or military – either alone or in collaboration together with Buddhist nationalists or other groups – had orchestrated the violence for their own political gain. Other research has also highlighted the prevalence of similar political explanations for the communal violence in Myanmar.36 Both Rohingya and Rakhine respondents in Sittwe claimed that the state was creating the violence for its own gain or to benefit the other community. These are incompatible narratives and both cannot be wholly accurate. Yet respondents from both communities were able to present some evidence supporting their claims.

For the most part, however, Rohingya and Kaman respondents in Sittwe primarily explained the violence as a result of the RNDP/ANP’s divisive ethno-nationalism or instigation rather than political manoeuvrings by the USDP, although this was also often part of the explanation. The Rohingya political leader in Sittwe stated that “Rakhine terrorists”, particularly those from Rakhine political parties, caused the violence against

35 Prasse-Freeman, “The Rohingya and the World.” 36 Matthew J. Walton, Matt Schissler, and Phyu Phyu Thi, “Behind Myanmar's Religious Tensions,” Nikkei Asian Review, 10 August 2016, http://asia.nikkei.com/Viewpoints-archive/Viewpoints/Walton-Schissler- and-Phyu-Phyu-Thi-Behind-Myanmar-s-religious-tensions. 217 his community.37 He argued that the RNDP leadership organised the attacks, with backing from the national USDP government.38 Others said that after the 2010 elections, the RNDP “made propaganda against Rohingya, and made the Rakhine hate Rohingya through hate speech”.39 The same respondents argued that the USDP government supported those who attacked Muslims in Sittwe. Many questioned the state’s official narratives of the Kyauk Ni Maw murder and Maungdaw violence. It was often said that Rohingya in Maungdaw had simply gathered to pray, but police accused them of making a problem and open-fired.40 “The government created this conflict and blamed the Rohingya through their propaganda”, one respondent said.41

Evidence claimed to show that the state was behind the violence included the failure of security forces to respond effectively, despite their large presence in towns such as Sittwe, Meiktila and Lashio which are all close to large military areas. The Rohingya man who formerly served as a captain in the Tatmadaw believed that security forces did not interfere in the violence because they had orders from the government not to do so.42 The Rohingya political leader in Sittwe also said the police response indicated that the USDP government was behind the violence. Neither police nor military tried to stop the attackers – “they encouraged the people!”, he declared.43 These claims were also based on the fact that Dr Aye Maung was involved in the 2012 Rakhine Inquiry Commission on Sectarian Violence in Rakhine State (hereafter Inquiry Commission), which was set up by the USDP government to investigate the violence and which largely exonerated Rakhine communities from blame from the violence. There were no Rohingya representatives on the commission. The former Tatmadaw captain argued that;

37 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 38 Ibid. 39 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 40 Rohingya Man (51yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 8 December, 2015. 41 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. Indeed, the government often cast blame on the Rohingya for the violence in 2012. It is worth repeating that shortly after the June violence, then President’s Office director Zaw Htay posted to Facebook an allegation that “Rohingya Terrorists of the so-called Rohingya Solidarity Organization are crossing the border and getting into the country with the weapons”. Allchin, “The Rohingya, Myths and Misinformation.” 42 Former Tatamdaw Captain, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 23 February, 2016. 43 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 218

It seems there was some deal between Dr Aye Maung and U Thein Sein. Aye Maung has no trouble dealing with the U Thein Sein government and easily gets what he wants in parliament. Now Dr Aye Maung is intent on making Muslims stateless and boat people.44

Claims of the state’s involvement in the violence for political gain were made across the country. A Muslim community leader in Yangon said the violence was “purposely created” by the USDP government so that people were glad to see the military come to their defence after the police failed to protect communities.45 This explanation posits that the Tatmadaw was using religion as a “political tool” to tell democrats “we are still around”.46 A Kaman community leader in Thandwe argued that the USDP, ANP and MaBaTha spread the conflict and “defended Pongyis from action under the law because they want to get votes from Buddhists”.47 A Sayadaw in Mandalay also argued that “MaBaTha can be assumed to have been founded by the USDP, and maybe even U Thein Sein himself”, with particular support from U Aung Thaung, in order “to get power through instability”.48 A similar narrative was told by a Panthay Muslim leader in Mandalay, who believed that the USDP and MaBaTha were trying to create trouble for the NLD through religious strife.49 These claims were reflected in the response from a lawyer in Mandalay, who argued;

This so-called religious conflict was instigated; it was orchestrated by the military government and their puppets. MaBaTha is just a tool, a proxy of the USDP. It was organised by U Aung Thaung, the notorious killer and Nazi-style USDP leader, with U Wirathu. He is not a monk, but a child killer.50

A Mandalay doctor also expressed his opinion that the conflict was controlled by the government who were using religion divisively as a political tool.51 A civil society leader in Lashio argued that the “government was the architect” for the rising anti-Muslim

44 Former Tatamdaw Captain, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 23 February, 2016. 45 Muslim Community Leader, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 26 October, 2016. 46 Ibid. 47 Thandwe-Based Lawyer, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 48 Mandalay-Based Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 11 July, 2016. 49 Panthay Community Leader, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 11 July, 2016. 50 Mandalay-Based Lawyer, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 51 Mandalay-Based Doctor, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 219 sentiment in the CSO community there in 2012 and 2013, and noted that the “USDP and MaBaTha are the same, they just changed the colour of their clothes”.52 Similar explanations were also heard from a journalist and a former journalist in Lashio.53 In Meiktila, a Muslim community leader noted his belief that the violence was “a political play” by the USDP, but that there were also economic reasons for the violence;

The USDP wanted to win the Meiktila by-election in 2012, but they were not successful, so they created the conflict. Most people were angry under the military during social and economic crises. So the government diverted this attention to Muslims. The USDP and Buddhist economic groups stimulated the conflict in Meiktila.54

As can be seen, the narrative that the USDP contributed to the violence for political outcomes was widespread in the narratives presented by various respondents. The same type of explanation was also cited by Rakhine community leaders in Sittwe. While the dominant narrative in Rakhine communities in Sittwe was that Muslims started the violence in order to take Rakhine land, many Rakhine leaders also argue that the Myanmar government played a role, in a continuation of their divide and rule game in Rakhine State. In particular, it was often heard in interviews that the government orchestrated the violence as a distraction from resource extraction projects which were exploiting Rakhine. This explanation has both economic and political aspects. A Rakhine civil society leader who was involved in the anti-Shwe Gas campaign firmly believes that the violence was organised in 2012 by the government to distract Rakhine interest away from the gas pipeline. She says that the Muslim religious leaders organised their community to attack Rakhine, but the government controlled the conflict “from behind”. At that time, the anti-Shwe Gas campaign “was growing stronger and stronger, with 260,000 signatures on the petition”, she noted.55 Her argument was that the Muslim “master plan” to take over Rakhine land was used by the government to create trouble between Rakhine and Muslims, making the conflict a more pressing issue than

52 Civil Society Leader, interview, Lashio, Shan State, Myanmar, 10 August, 2016. 53 Former Lashio-Based Journalist, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 3 August, 2016; Lashio-Based Journalist (2), interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 3 August, 2016. 54 Meiktila Interfaith Activist, interview, Meiktila, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 September, 2016. 55 Rakhine Civil Society Leader, interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 220 the gas pipeline. Other Rakhine respondents also believed that the government “created the conflict to turn Rakhine interests a different way” or “to organise a distraction” from the gas pipeline.56 There is an apparent irony here. Although the USDP is widely believed to have orchestrated the violence for its own political gain, the main consequence for the party has been the attribution of responsibility for the violence to it – something that will remain its legacy.

7.4 State as Discriminatory Another explanation saw the state as discriminatory and intent on marginalising Muslim communities in general and Rohingya in particular – even to the point of genocide. This explanation was sometimes given alongside political explanations, yet it should be understood as distinct. Political explanations cite the benefits for political parties and individual politicians from communal violence. In contrast, the explanations cited here constructed the state as fundamentally discriminatory and argued that the state was motivated to disadvantage Muslims and present them as lesser citizens, or as outside of the Myanmar national political community. This was not due to potential political benefits from pandering to Buddhist nationalist organisations, but instead due to a prejudice on behalf of the state.

The explanation frequently placed the recent violence within a long-term plan by the Myanmar state to discriminate against Rohingya and divide communities. The narrative of persecution of Muslims by the state was often dated to the 1970s. The Rohingya political leader in Sittwe cited increased discrimination under U Khin Nyunt, including travel restrictions in the 1990s.57 Several respondents noted that the government took no action against those who harassed Rohingya.58 The lack of action from police was said to encourage hostile behaviour among Rakhine.

56 Rakhine Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015; Rakhine Buddhist Monk, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 57 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 58 Ibid.; Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 221

The government wouldn’t protect us, and wouldn’t let us travel without a bribe. If you were alone at night, you could be beaten by Buddhists. If we complain to the police, no action was taken. The government gives passage to the Rakhine to do as they like.59

A Muslim community leader in Yangon argued that the violence was created by the USDP government and by nationalist groups. “They want Muslims to be notorious”, he said. “The government supports these nationalist movements. There is no law enforced, or action against hate speech”.60 A Kaman community leader argued;

U Thein Sein has made no changes for anyone. He is the very worst. A dictator, a liar and a fox. The worst person, the worst president. Nothing has changed. Look at Myitsone or Leptadaung. U Than Shwe was better. Thein Sein talks about democracy but there is no change. Than Shwe was honest at least. The Government is the problem. They made this violence.61

In Mandalay, two Buddhist monks argued that the USDP supported MaBaTha and that this was evident through the fact that MaBaTha could always get permission to hold public sermons when others could not.62 “MaBaTha was founded by the USDP, and the USDP has support from the Tatmadaw. They are all the same, a circle of support with money from U Aung Thaung, the USDP and their cronies”, they argued.63

For some Rohingya respondents, the 2012 violence was the latest step in a strategic process of genocide. The former Tatmadaw captain noted that when he received his identification card in 1974 he was registered not as Rohingya but as Rakhine Muslim,

so they can say there are no Rohingya, this is a very strategic plan… They have tried to wipe out the Rohingya since 2012, like Ne Win and Khin Nyunt

59 Rohingya Man (51yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 8 December, 2015. 60 Burmese Muslim Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Yangon, Myanmar, 3 February, 2016. 61 Kaman Community Leader and Moulvi, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 May, 2016. 62 Buddhist Monks, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 7 July, 2016. 63 Ibid. 222

before them… The situation became worse after U Thein Sein took power. He talks democratic, but is distrustful. He is worse than Hitler.64

“This is the government’s plan to make Muslims illegal”, said one Rohingya political party representative in Yangon.65 “This drama was crafted by the government to put Muslims in trouble, to drive them into the sea. The plan is for the depletion of Muslims from Rakhine”, he noted.66 One Rohingya politician said the violence in Rakhine State was well planned and organised by the RNDP and USDP – even “by the president himself”, he suggested. “This is not genocide, yet, but it is the starting point. Dehumanisation and polarisation are the start of genocide”, he stated in 2015.67

It was often the USDP or military as an institution or high ranking members who were said to bear responsibility for the violence. In contrast to this, local USDP members were sometimes singled out to be exempt from blame. For example, in one discussion with Muslim leaders in Lashio the USDP government was said to be behind the violence and broader discrimination against Muslims. However, individual ministers from the government were also credited with calming the situation.68 Also in Lashio, many respondents cited the case of a local USDP official who had protected Muslims and the mosque from violence there, while they also blamed the USDP more broadly for creating the violence.

7.5 The State, “Outsiders”, and the Rule of Law The USDP government was cautious in allocating responsibility for the violence. This is due in part to its attempts to appeal to Buddhist nationalism to secure votes as detailed in the previous chapter, but also due to the fact that actors of the state including its security forces have been implicated in the violence. This section will analyse two explanations for the violence frequently given by the state and national-level politicians;

64 Former Tatamdaw Captain, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 23 February, 2016. 65 Rohingya Political Party Information Officer, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 February, 2016. 66 Ibid. 67 Rohingya Politician, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 26 October, 2015. 68 Muslim Community Leaders Focus Group, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 3 August, 2016. 223 a result of interference by “outsiders”, and as a result of a lack of rule of law. This rhetoric displaces blame for the violence, allowing both instigators and perpetrators to go without reprimand. The dominant narrative presented by the state is politicised, becomes polarised and remains unresolved. Meanwhile, the power structures and narratives which permitted the violence to occur are allowed to continue and are even replicated by the rhetoric of the state and other actors.

Perhaps the most notable group of people that the state has allocated blame to are “outsiders” or “strangers”, usually translated as lusein in Burmese. After communal violence in Thandwe, southern Rakhine State, in September 2013, President Thein Sein noted that the “rioters who set fire to the villages are outsiders”.69 It is not only the president who pointed its finger in that vague direction, but also witnesses of the violence, the media and analysis of the violence by foreign researchers.70 This ill-defined group of people has been scapegoated responsibility for violence in both Rakhine State and other locations in Myanmar.

In various instances of violence during this period, there was evidence that people had come from outside of the local area to engage in violence. Respondents in each case study for this thesis also attributed the violence to “outsiders”. Yet, in every location visited for this research, respondents also knew people locally who had been involved in the violence, or had participated in it themselves. The term “outsiders” may be used to protect one’s community from repercussion for their involvement in the violence. Yet the use of the term was often not as vague as it has been presented by the state and in the media. There was often broad agreement as to just who these outsiders were. Variously, outsiders were defined as “Bengalis from northern Rakhine”, “Rakhine from northern Rakhine”, “extreme Bamar from central Myanmar”, “migrant workers” who

69 Aung Shin, ““The Police Let Them Burn Our Homes”,” Myanmar Times, 5 October 2013, http://www.mmtimes.com/index.php/national-news/8353-the-police-let-them-burn-our-homes.html. 70 See, for example; Peter Popham, “'They Stood Shouting at Us to Come out and Be Killed',” The Independent, 9 April 2013, http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/they-stood-shouting-at-us- to-come-out-and-be-killed-anti-muslim-violence-in-central-burma-has-left-8566460.html; Justice Trust, “Hidden Hands,” 3; Nirmal Ghosh, “Myanmar: Old Monsters Stirring up Trouble,” The Straits Times, 2 June 2013, https://drkokogyi.wordpress.com/2013/06/02/myanmar-old-military-monsters-stirring-up- trouble/. 224 had settled locally for 10 to 15 years, or kalay kachay – unemployed troublemakers – from a nearby town.

The point here is not that both local people and outsiders were apparently involved in the violence, but that the varied nature of the violence and diversity of those involved in it allowed it to be interpreted in ways that were beneficial for those constructing particular narratives. Deeming that the violence was committed by outsiders is politically convenient. Outsiders could be whoever it is convenient to be. The vagueness of language means that it is the listener rather than the speaker who decides just who an outsider is. The term may suggest shadowy elements of the state or military, hired thugs or religious extremists of varying persuasions. These interpretations displaced blame, ensured that the mechanisms contributing to the violence remained uncovered, and allowed the violence to be reproduced. The allocation of blame to this secretive group which has never been properly defined has allowed the state to make very few attempts to track down these “outsiders”, despite the abundance of evidence in the form of photographs and videos taken by witnesses to the violence and shared openly on social media.

As well as serving to displace the blame for the violence, the USDP government on many occasions in fact spoke out in defence of those monks who appeared to be instigating the violence. The best example is again of Ashin Wirathu. Shortly before the violence in Thandwe Township, Ashin Wirathu had preached in villages nearby those in which the violence occurred. Respondents from the area were adamant that these sermons had instigated the violence, and noted that relations between Buddhists and Muslims had changed immediately after the sermons, and 969 stickers began appearing on businesses and homes.71 Buddhists stopped greeting Muslims in the streets and stopped doing business with them – known repertoires of Ashin Wirathu, the 969 movement and MaBaTha. Similar patterns emerged elsewhere. Ashin Wirathu is said to have preached in a nearby town before the violence began in Lashio. It was a Facebook post which was shared by Ashin Wirathu that is credited with instigating the violence in Mandalay. In

71 Kaman Man, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 May, 2016; Rakhine Muslim Mosque Leader, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 May, 2016. 225

June 2013, just months after the Meiktila violence, during which “969” was marked on the walls of destroyed Muslim buildings, President Thein Sein described 969 as “a symbol of peace” and defended Ashin Wirathu, calling him “a son of Lord Buddha”.72

As well as assigning the blame to “outsiders”, both the USDP government and the NLD opposition looked to the lack of rule of law as an explanation for communal violence. Cheesman has also noted the tendency for both Aung San Suu Kyi and members of the USDP government to appeal to the rule of law as an antidote to communal violence.73 A lack of rule of law, however, is only one factor behind instances of communal violence, and a broad, ill-defined factor at that. Similar to referring to outsiders, the rule of law is a politically convenient factor for the state to appeal to, due to its wide appeal and multiple possible interpretations. Rule of law could represent either equality between Rohingya and Rakhine under a reformed legal system in which citizenship laws are brought in to line with international standards, or, alternatively, the enforcement of the existing 1982 Citizenship Law which restricts Rohingya citizenship under the exclusive taing-yintha framework. It is pleasing to multiple audiences. Cheesman has argued that the multiple interpretations of the rule of law language “serves as a shield against criticism over handling of the violence” on behalf of the state, which can simply claim to be enforcing the rule of law.74 Rule of law explanations for communal violence were a politically convenient tool.

Attributing the occurance of communal violence soley to a lack of rule of law is also blame displacement and a form of scapegoating. When a lack of rule of law is said to be behind the violence, those who encouraged anti-Muslim sentiment, hate speech and violence – as well as those who took part in the violence – are let free from blame. The wide and vague interpretations of the concept of the rule of law or other political solutions mean that the blame is not effectively attributed anywhere. The rule of law is a difficult issue to reform and few specifics have been noted by those deploying its rhetoric. It could take years and even decades to establish responsive legislatures and reform entrenched corruption and discrimination in the bureaucracy, judiciary and

72 Marshall, “Myanmar's Offical Embrace,” 2. 73 Cheesman, “What Does the Rule of Law Have to Do with Democratization (in Myanmar)?,” 227-31. 74 Ibid., 229. 226 security forces, itself just one interpretation of the term. Brass also notes that the state’s focus on one particular explanation for communal violence means that all other factors are ignored, while the one factor selected by the state is politicised and solutions blocked.75 This was the case in Myanmar, where the language of the rule of law and potential solutions to the violence became politicised and unresolved. This has been reflected in the case of citizenship verification for Muslim communities in Rakhine State. The politicised nature of the issue has made it an issue of contention between the RNDP/ANP and both the previous USDP and current NLD governments. Views on the issue polarised and blocked progress of the verification process.

7.6 Replicating Narratives and Power Structures What explains the popularity of these narratives over others? How did some accounts come to be dominant narratives while others were neglected? Duncan notes in the context of Indonesia that the conflict developed on understandings of dominant interpretations as fact.76 Understanding these perspectives is therefore just as important as understanding how the violence did occur. The narratives documented above dominated because they aligned with what people already believed. They fit easily into established narratives of threat and opportunity, and dominated due to their power to replicate the same narrative. In other words, in the contest of ideas that emerges during the process of interpretation, confirmation bias plays a large role.

As noted above, multiple competing accounts cannot all be wholly accurate. Claims that the state instigated the violence to distract Rakhine attention from mineral resource projects do not fit well with claims that the state instigated the violence in order to drive Muslims out of Sittwe and allow the RNDP and USDP to succeed politically. During fieldwork, however, such contradictions in responses were the norm rather than an exception. Different narratives of how the violence began or unfolded were heard from different communities. This should not be surprising, especially in Sittwe where communities have been separated since the violence in 2012 and there has been little

75 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 308. 76 Duncan, Violence and Vengeance: Religious Conflict and Its Aftermath in Eastern Indonesia, 14. 227 communication or reconciliation since then. Many accounts heard did not fit with the accounts of the violence in the press and subsequent human rights reports or other domestic or international analysis. This is not to say that such accounts were any less real or any less important. Dominant explanations on the ground may be just as factual as what is presented by any “objective observer”. It is certain that explanations widely accepted among communities central to the violence will be more important in shaping how future conflict develops and how it is resolved than the explanations presented by an outside observer.

That narratives of the state as a threat exist across Myanmar should not come as a surprise. This is also reflected in the theory. As Job notes, populations are more likely to view the typical “third-world” state as a provider of threats, rather than as protection from them.77 In Myanmar there is deep mistrust of security forces, and the bureaucratic levels of government which people usually meet are plagued with corruption. Mistrust and views of the state as predatory and discriminatory are found particularly in minority communities at the peripheries of the country. Here, state resources are scarce and civil war and state violence have been common. The persistence of narratives of the state as responsible for violence should not be surprising and are factually accurate in various ways. That these narratives are common and are reproduced in Rohingya Muslim communities in particular, given the especially discriminatory policy of government towards these groups in recent history, is not surprising and does reflect reality.

As noted, communal explanations for the violence were common across respondents. These explanations drew on existing narratives of Muslims as hostile towards Buddhists, or seeking to displace Buddhism in the region. When violence began in 2012, these narratives were again activated across the country and appealed to by elites. Similarly, the established taing-yintha framework – which situated the Rohingya as outside of the political boundaries of the nation and constructed the Rohingya as a threat to the stability of those boundaries – was strengthened by interpretations of the violence. Muslims were seen as instigating violence, and the incentives to include them inside conceptions of the nation appeared to be low.

77 Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma,” 12. 228

The potential for the process of interpretation to place recent violence into existing narratives and to thereby reproduce such narratives is illustrated by the examples given by respondents. Recent events of communal violence were likened to other acts of violence which were said to be perpetrated by the state. Communal violence was then placed in the same category. A doctor in Mandalay likened communal violence to the Depayin massacre of 2003. It is commonly believed that government sponsored thugs – either from the regime supported Union Solidarity and Development Association (USDA, the predecessor to the USDP), or hired thugs known as Swan Arr Shin – were responsible for the state-directed violence. The doctor says that “the government created the violence so they didn’t take action, like in Depayin when Aung San Suu Kyi was attacked. Maybe those who didn’t take action were given promotions and the victims were sent to jail instead of the perpetrators”.78 Narratives such as these placed the recent violence into an existing, familiar narrative.

Similarly, interpretations of the violence dominant in Rakhine communities align with existing narratives and are therefore powerfully reproduced. In late 2012, one RNDP leader told BBC News that “we are trapped between Islamisation and Burmanisation”.79 An ANP politician also argued in 2016 that the government “doesn’t want us to spread nationalism. They arrest the Buddhist nationalists only after protests from Muslims. They don’t listen to the Buddhists”.80 The narrative that the violence was orchestrated by the state, using Muslims to violently oppose Rakhine, fits well into the established discourse of Rakhine repression. This interpretation also absolves the perpetrators of violence and political leaders of any blame for the violence, which is instead shifted onto Muslims and the state. This perpetuates existing power structures and inequalities and allows certain actors to benefit from the violence.

This blame displacement is also evident in explanations which assign responsibility for the violence to a lack of rule of law or undefined “outsiders”. This has allowed the mechanisms which produce violence to remain unchallenged and have replicated the

78 Mandalay-Based Doctor, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 13 July, 2016. 79 Feargal Keane, “The Burmese Monks Who Preach Intolerance against Muslim Rohingya,” BBC News, 21 November 2012, http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-20427889. 80 Thandwe ANP Politician, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 14 June, 2016. This quote can also be said to constitute a claim on the government to respond to ANP demands. 229 power structures and communal discourses which allow the violence to occur. The state has taken little action against those instigating violence or participating in it. As a result, blame for the violence has been allowed to lie on Muslim communities through their construction as a threat under the dominant communal explanations outlined earlier. As shown, the USDP struggled to challenge these narratives and instead appealed to an exclusionary form of nationalism for electoral benefit. The mechanism of diffusion is also in play here. The state’s attempts to construct a Muslim threat sit in a global narrative of an Islamic threat, particularly since the “War on Terror”. There government could claim to be part of a wider alliance against the hostile forces of Islamic terrorism internationally.81 This narrative allows the state to use extraordinary force against civilians who it claims are supporters of an international terrorist network. The mechanism of diffusion means that this narrative is broadly accepted in Myanmar, as it aligns with widespread beliefs, many prejudiced, about Muslims in Myanmar and internationally.

The narratives which become dominant during the interpretation of communal violence are those which are most reproducible due to their placement in a known discourse. These narratives replicate existing power structures often in part because they are a product themselves of local and national power relations.

7.7 Implications for Aung San Suu Kyi and the NLD Communal violence and its interpretations during this period of democratic transition had overall negative effects for the NLD. This affected the NLD little during the period, however, as shown by its convincing win at the 2015 elections. Rather, the long term- ramifications of communal violence and Buddhist nationalism are likely to have a much more negative effect on the NLD’s capacity to rule. Interpretations of the violence had implications for the NLD in two very different ways. First, there was a perception that the NLD had failed to stand up for the rights of minority Muslim communities. Across the country, Muslims were concerned that the Myanmar emerging from democratic transition was increasingly one in which they were not welcome. By mid-2016, Muslim

81 Selth, Burma's Muslims: Terrorists or Terrorised?, 28. 230 community leaders in Lashio noted that Aung San Suu Kyi had done nothing on the issue of communal violence and “was just like U Thein Sein”.82 There was palpable discontent towards the fact that “there is no role for Muslims allowed now, even though Muslims sacrificed blood in the fights for independence and democracy”.83 Kaman community leaders in Thandwe noted the need for international pressure on the NLD. “We believe in Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, but we are worried about MaBaTha and hardliners”.84 At the time of research, Rohingya respondents remained largely sympathetic towards Aung San Suu Kyi, although disappointed with her silence regarding their worsening situation. “We want Aung San Suu Kyi to be president, but she is not interested in the affairs of Rohingya. It clashes with Rakhine and Buddhist sentiment if she was”, said one political party representative.85 In the early months of the NLD government, a civil society researcher in Lashio noted that “the NLD don’t seem to stand for and represent minorities. Before, they came here and said good things, but their actions have not been so good”.86

Secondly and conversely, a competing interpretation posited that the NLD had not done enough to support Buddhist groups and was supporting Muslim communities instead. As noted in the previous chapter, respondents from Rakhine political parties and Buddhist nationalist organisations generally did not support the NLD during this period. The Thandwe ANP Chairperson disputed the NLD’s election victory in Thandwe in 2015, and said that “the NLD won here because of Bengalis voting on white cards. The truth and justice was lost. The opposite won”.87

These responses reflect small segments of the community who participated in this research and not the general support for the NLD at that time, which remained very high as evidenced in their success in the then recent 2015 election. These responses perhaps reflected the early whisperings of discontent with the NLD and the gradual decline of

82 Muslim Community Leaders Focus Group, interview, Lashio Township, Shan State, Myanmar, 3 August, 2016. 83 Ibid. 84 Kaman Community Leader and Moulvi, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 May, 2016. 85 Rohingya Political Party Information Officer, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 February, 2016. 86 Civil Society Organisation Researcher, interview, Lashio, Shan State, Myanmar, 5 August, 2016. 87 Thandwe ANP Politician, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 14 June, 2016. As white cards had been abolished prior to the election this politician is alleging electoral fraud. 231 the NLD’s popularity as they faced the challenges of governing. The story of the NLD during the period of study rather remained one of widespread popularity. The NLD and Aung San Suu Kyi refrained from taking a strong position on the violence or growing Buddhist nationalism generally, and instead often caved to the demands of nationalists. This was most evident when the NLD refused to run any Muslim candidates in the 2015 election. Tolerating Buddhist nationalism did not cost the NLD many votes.

In contrast, the party potentially risked losing a lot of popularity by challenging Buddhist nationalists, something illustrated by the response to one of the few comments Aung San Suu Kyi has made on the topic of communal violence. In the brief window between the Maungdaw violence and the Sittwe violence in early June 2012, Aung San Suu Kyi was quoted in the media as saying;

Maybe some people wouldn’t like me saying this but I have to say what I must say regardless of whether they like it or not. When you are the majority in a society, then you are the strong party. If you are strong then you must be generous and sympathetic. I would like to see all people in Burma get along with each other regardless of their religion and ethnicity.88

On different occasions during fieldwork, two individual Rakhine monastics identified these words spoken by Aung San Suu Kyi as contributing to the violence in Sittwe and being at odds with their own perspective. One Sayadaw placed these words alongside the Kyauk Ni Maw, Toungup and Maungdaw incidents as the most important factors behind the Sittwe violence.89 Another Sayadaw recalled what he believed were the offending comment as “the majority of people should not influence the minority of people”.90 The then opposition leader’s comments were interpreted in Rakhine communities as blaming the Rakhine people for the violence and as a failure of Aung San Suu Kyi to appreciate the threat against Rakhine from the Muslim population. These words were seized by nationalistic forces as evidence that the NLD would not support

88 Hanna Hindstrom, “State Media Issues Correction after Publishing Racial Slur,” Democratic Voice of Burma, 6 June 2012, http://www.dvb.no/news/state-media-issues-correction-after-publishing-racial- slur/22328. 89 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (1), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 March, 2016. 90 Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (2), interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 232

Rakhine interests, and that Rakhine must vote for ethnic parties. Rakhine nationalists promote another solution, this one more situated in a communal discourse: that Rakhine and Muslim communities are incompatible, and are unable to live together.91

7.8 Conclusion The interpretation and reinterpretation of violence during and after its actualisation affected how these conflicts continued and how the violence was replicated. The analysis of this process in this chapter has synthesised competing narratives of communal violence during this period of democratic transition. As per the historical institutionalist argument, these narratives reflect and had consequences for the reinterpretation of Myanmar’s political community during this period of transition. The interpretations which came to dominate discourse promoted exclusionary forms of nationalism, which reflected historical conceptions of the nation. It has also been shown that these explanations contributed towards the reproduction of violence.

The dominant interpretations at different scales of analysis were found to be substantially different. While the violence in northern Rakhine State was interpreted locally as primarily about identity and land, nationally it was interpreted as a religious conflict and the threats to Buddhism were stressed. While both of these explanations fit into the broader communal discourse, the former is very much situated in an ethnic basis, while the latter is seen through a religious lens. At a local level there were also diverse explanations for the violence. In the same towns, different communities presented contradictory explanations of how and why the violence occurred. This should not be surprising, but should be taken as indicative of how diverse interpretations of the same events are possible and how different explanations of the violence fit into established narratives in different communities. Interpretations of the violence differed between locations as different framings appealed to different audiences. While local Muslim communities may have explained the violence as a result of USDP fear-mongering to appeal to hardline Buddhist nationalists, to local Buddhists the violence was about the defence of their religion from a hostile “foreign” religion. At

91 Ibid. 233 the local level in Sittwe, people were familiar with a story of Rohingya as a threat to Rakhine identity, land, future autonomy and even to Rakhine history. Nationally, this story was unfamiliar. What was familiar was a story of the Buddhist religion facing a foreign threat and of Muslims as problematic in the dominant conception of the nation. For many, this also fitted into the narrative of the political dynamics before the 2015 election. This chapter has suggested that the narratives which become dominant during the interpretation of communal violence are those which are most easily placed in a known discourse.

Dominant interpretations replicated not only existing narratives, but also the power structures which accompanied them. This occurred in part through blame displacement. Communal explanations looked to essentialist notions of Muslims as violent and defended those who engaged in the violence with stereotypes of Buddhists as simply defending their religion against a hostile threat. Economic explanations also reflected the communal discourse on further inspection. The state’s broad allocation of blame to “outsiders” and vague notions of the rule of law reflected its attempts to avoid confrontation with Buddhist nationalists. The result was that no action was taken against those inciting or engaging in violence, the blame for violence was scapegoated and existing power structures left to continue, along with the conditions which fostered violence to begin with.

The mechanism of polarisation was also evident during the process of interpretation. The violence created less trust in the state, evident through the blame levelled towards the USDP. Rohingya and other Muslim respondents in particular were affected by this, although other cases of polarisation were also evident. The widespread belief that certain monastics were behind anti-Muslim violence and the recent rise in anti-NLD Buddhist nationalism had also produced an increasingly polarised sangha, something evident from interviews and cited by those from both inside and outside Buddhist nationalist organisations.92 Buddhist and Muslim communities polarised due to the narratives of the violence which emerged and subsequent distrust created between

92 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017; Prominent Mandalay Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 14 July, 2016. 234 communities. The contentious processes and mechanisms which have been covered in this thesis, including boundary activation, polarisation, actor constitution, brokerage and interpretation can all be found in this chapter. All of these processes were occurring concurrently, reflecting the dynamic analysis of the contentious politics approach.

235

Chapter 8: Insecurity: Fear and Perpetration of Violence This chapter analyses relationships between communities and their relationships with the state. There is a focus in this chapter on security forces and their reform during this period of communal violence and democratic transition. It has been noted that a condition behind every instance of communal violence is the failure of the state to prevent it.1 The relationship is considerably more complicated than this, however. The inability of the state to protect communities produces insecurity in relations between communities, as well as between communities and the state. With no protection from the state, measures taken by one community to enhance their own defence are often interpreted offensively by others, therefore making violence more likely. Job has written that under the weak state there exists “an internal predicament in which individuals and groups acting against perceived threats to assure their own security or securities consequently create an environment of increased threat and reduced security”.2 As documented in Chapter 3, security forces were reformed during this period. This had consequences for relationship between communities and the state in Myanmar. Crucially, the response of security forces was discriminatory and included the perpetration of violence, and this cannot be neglected in any analysis. Division and discrimination between communities in Rakhine State has historically been reinforced and promoted by oppressive government policies.

This chapter introduces the concept of insecurity into the contentious politics literature. Insecurity can be considered an environmental mechanism, which spurs the attribution of threat or opportunity. As noted in the analytical framework of this thesis, environmental mechanisms are defined in contentious politics as “externally generated influences on conditions affecting social life”.3 Such influences are interpreted, opportunity or threat attributed, and action taken. Across Myanmar, insecurity was

1 Stuart J. Kaufman, “An 'International' Theory of Inter-Ethnic War,” Review of International Studies 22 (1996): 151. 2 Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma,” 18. 3 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 25. 236 evident in responses to this research. In Rakhine State, this insecurity was clear in anxieties among Rakhine communities of a Rohingya threat to interests of land, federalism, identity and history. In Myanmar more generally, these anxieties are felt as a threat to the Buddhist identity of the nation.

This chapter first considers how communal violence emerged in Sittwe in June 2012 through a reconstruction of events. It is clear that anxieties were had in both Rakhine and Rohingya communities of a threat to life or physical wellbeing from the other community. There was little confidence in the state to prevent the violence. This chapter will also analyse a case of neighbouring villages in Sittwe Township which avoided violence, despite conditions which suggested communal violence may occur. Throughout this chapter it will again be found that during this period of democratic transition there was a perceived need to redefine who belonged in the political community, reflecting the historical institutionalist argument of this thesis.

The willingness of non-elites to perpetrate violence is a necessary condition for communal violence. This chapter finds that violence was perpetrated in the name of defending ones’ own identity group or oneself. Fears of a loss of life or harm to wellbeing are easier to understand in Sittwe than in other locations in Myanmar. It is estimated that the population of Sittwe was split approximately 70-30 or 60-40 between the majority Buddhist population and the minority Muslim population.4 Nationally, Muslims constitute only four per cent of the population. Yet there were deep, historically situated, fears of a loss of identity which legitimised violence in its defence. These fears sit in the context of the historical exclusion and threat construction of Muslim communities. Narratives of communalism, perpetuated by influential religious and political leaders, also contributed to fears of a loss of identity and the legitimation of

4 There is little reliable data regarding population in Myanmar previous to the 2014 Census. The estimates given here are arrived at by considering the current urban population of Sittwe (147,899) and the number of displaced Muslims in Sittwe Township (92,903). These numbers remain problematic, however, as many in these camps previously resided in rural areas of Sittwe Township or in other townships of Rakhine State, and other minority communities including Hindus or other communal minorities are not considered in these estimates. Furthermore, an unknown but significant number of people have fled to Bangladesh or elsewhere by boat following the violence, making it very difficult to measure the population of Sittwe before the violence of 2012. UNOCHA, “Rakhine Response Plan (Myanmar),” (United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, 2013), 4, https://reliefweb.int/sites/reliefweb.int/files/resources/Snapshot_Rakhine_UNOCHA_12_Aug2013.pdf. 237 violence. Finally, this chapter will consider how religious leaders promoted a justification for violence within a Buddhist framework. Perceived threats to identity are crucial to understanding why non-elites became involved in violence.

8.1 Rumours, Tensions and Defence In the case of communal violence Sittwe in June 2012, both Rakhine and Rohingya communities attributed threat to the other, and to the inability of security forces to protect them. Against a history of divided communal relations in Sittwe, tensions were raised after a series of incidents between communities across Rakhine State: the rape and murder in Kyauk Ni Maw, the massacre in Toungup, and the violence in Maungdaw. The demographics of Sittwe were split almost evenly between Muslim and Rakhine communities, meaning that the threat perceptions were high. These events were all interpreted in a communal lens. Communities took defensive measures to protect themselves. In doing so, groups unwittingly risked being interpreted as offensive by others, and therefore increased the risk of violence. This continued until offense was deemed to be the best defence against hostile neighbours. Under military rule, the state had frequently failed to protect communities from violence. Sittwe itself previously suffered communal violence in 1994 and 2001. In 2012, however, the failure of security forces to effectively respond allowed the violence to worsen and occur in other parts of Sittwe town and the surrounding villages. The way in which the violence unfolded and the testimonies of those involved show that the mechanism of insecurity contributed to violence.

The events in Kyauk Ni Maw, Toungup and Maungdaw were all geographically far from Sittwe, yet they influenced the situation in the state capital heavily. Many respondents noted that the tensions between communities in Sittwe grew after the Kyauk Ni Maw rape and murder,5 then again after the Toungup and Maungdaw violence.6 One respondent went so far as to say that until the Kyauk Ni Maw case there was no tension, and people lived “side-by-side with mutual trust”.7 As tensions rose and rumours of

5 Rakhine Village Administrators, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 6 Rakhine Man (46yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 7 Rakhine Woman (60yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 238 impending violence spread in Sittwe after the rape and murder in Kyauk Ni Maw, communities and individuals took measures to prepare for defence.

A Rakhine woman heard from a Muslim friend three days before the violence that Muslims were organising in the mosque and she began planning how to defend herself.8 Another respondent took preparatory measures and moved her children and herself away from the town.9 She had also heard that Muslims were gathering in the mosque on the edge of Narzi quarter, and that a rumour was spreading that some people from the Rakhine community had thrown rocks at the mosque.10 One Rakhine respondent reported seeing Muslims preparing for violence, and was warned by a “kind Muslim man” that it would occur.11 One respondent moved her daughters out of Sittwe to stay with family in another township, and later wished she had also moved her valuables along with herself and husband.12 Others also moved out of Sittwe before the violence, as the uncertainty of the other communities’ intentions grew.13 Security concerns were paramount. A Rakhine civil society organisation leader noted that security forces had simply stood by while Muslims destroyed Rakhine villages in Maungdaw.14 Regardless of the accuracy of this information rumours that security forces were unable or unwilling to protect communities would have heightened the sense of insecurity and need for defence.

The necessity to prepare for violence was due to the uncertainty and suspicion of the other communities’ intentions. Preparation was also deemed necessary due to a serious deficit of trust in security forces, as well as commonly held perceptions in both Rakhine and Muslim communities that authorities favour the other community.15 The realisation

8 Sittwe Rakhine IDP Camp Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 9 Rakhine Woman (60yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 10 Ibid. 11 Sittwe Rakhine IDP Camp Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 12 Rakhine Woman (45yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 13 Sittwe Rakhine IDP Camp Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 14 Rakhine Civil Society Organisation Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 15 Following the violence, the RNDP alleged that the government was only arresting Rakhine who had violated the curfew, and was not investigating Muslims. Narinjara, “31 Arakanese Imprisoned on Charge 239 that communities had to prepare to defend themselves reflects the fact that in previous instances of violence the military had failed to advert the violence before it started and that their eventual response had been heavy-handed. It was these same conditions which meant that preparatory defensive measures were interpreted as offensive. The situation in Sittwe escalated each day after the Kyauk Ni Maw case. “Ordinary people were very angry” said one respondent, “and then the conflict broke out suddenly, and grew”.16

8.2 Violence in Sittwe The immediate cause of any case of violence does not necessarily enhance our understanding of these instances of violence. In cases of communal violence in Myanmar and elsewhere it is often mundane or minor disputes which have taken on a communal interpretation. The Sittwe violence differs however, in that there is no widespread understanding of how the violence began. In other instances of communal violence there is a clear spark that drew people onto the streets, and is unanimously identified by all respondents. Even if the interpretation of a particular “spark” varies, it is usually agreed what the immediate cause was. Unusually, the matter of how the violence in Sittwe began remains a source of dispute between communities.

Various elites from Rakhine communities separately told a similar story of Muslims throwing rocks at a Rakhine funeral.17 The details and occasion of this incident could not be clarified. One Muslim respondent said that the funeral story was fabricated, and supposedly happened on Saturday 9 June.18 Other Rakhine respondents reported that Muslims organised the violence, but that they do not know how the violence started and had not heard of the funeral instance. Muslim respondents overwhelmingly reported that elements of the Rakhine community had organised the violence. Again,

of Violating Section 144,” Narinjara, 9 July 2012, http://narinjara.com/31-arakanese-imprisoned-on- charge-of-violating-section-144/. 16 Rakhine Civil Society Leader, interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 17 Rakhine Buddhist Monk, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015; Rakhine Minor Political Party Chairperson, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 March, 2016; Rakhine Civil Society Leader, interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015; Sittwe-Based Sayadaw (2), interview, Sittwe, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 18 Rohingya Man (25yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 240 however, there was no agreed instance which triggered the violence. Questions about how the violence began elicited responses regarding people from the other community throwing rocks, or congregating inside religious buildings or elsewhere, with intentions to attack.

It is suggested that in the context of poor security guarantees from the government and of high levels of tension and suspicion between communities, it would not have taken a lot to start the violence. Rumours of attack from the other community abounded, and people were preparing for violence. When Rakhine communities saw Muslims gathering in the mosque, ostensibly for defensive purposes, they had to assume that Muslims were planning offense. Similarly, when Muslim communities saw Rakhine families send women, children, the elderly, and their valuables out of the town, leaving only young men gathering on the streets, insecurity dictated that they must assume that these measures are offensive.

Following the Maungdaw violence, Muslim communities gathered on the streets and in the mosques. Perhaps they met to discuss the situation, or perhaps to prepare to defend their neighbourhood. Rumours of Rakhine youth throwing rocks at mosques circulated.19 Respondents from both communities noted that they interpreted the gathering of large crowds on the streets and mosques as aggressive. One Rakhine respondent noted that “Muslims were gathering with the intention of attacking Rakhine due to the Toungup and Kyauk Ni Maw incidents, so we knew this conflict would happen in Sittwe”.20 Although this respondent could not know whether the intentions of those gathering were offensive or defensive, they had to interpret these actions as offensive for the sake of their own security.

Violence began on Saturday 9 June, and was soon active in various neighbourhoods. Interviews indicate that it was either carried by active individuals, or began as pre- emptive attacks under local dynamics after residents heard of violence in other neighbourhoods or nearby villages and feared an attack on their own. It continued on

19 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 20 Rakhine Woman (45yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 241

10 June when Muslim residents fled to the Muslim dominated neighbourhood of Narzi which was spared violence on that day.21

On the same day, there was violence between a Rohingya village and a Rakhine village close in proximity to each other. Administrators from the Rakhine village heard rumours that nearly 100 Rohingya were arming themselves and preparing to descend upon the Rakhine village.22 They attempted a pre-emptive strike on the Rohingya village. The encountered the Rohingya villagers in the fields between the villages, where violence ensued and a number of people were killed. The Rakhine then attacked the Rohingya village itself. The village leader from the Rohingya village reported that over one thousand Rakhine from some 11 different villages arrived to destroy and loot his village, including livestock and rice in storage. In total, some 250 structures were reported destroyed.23

By Monday 11 June, the violence had truly reached Narzi. On Tuesday 12 June, there was a full assault on the overwhelmingly Muslim neighbourhood. First the south section of Narzi was burnt, forcing Muslims to the north of the neighbourhood. According to one Muslim respondent, the attackers appeared to be organised, and it seemed “they planned to kill everyone”.24 Another Rohingya man said that the attacks on Narzi were well planned. He recognised some of the attackers, and noted that both Rakhine from Narzi and outsiders were involved.25 A Rakhine monk reported that Rakhine homes in Narzi were first burnt by Muslims, before retaliation occurred by Rakhine.26 Homes of Rohingya, Kaman, Maramargyi and Rakhine families were destroyed in Narzi. The ISCI and Wade have documented the organisation of perpetrators by Rakhine community leaders, including the transportation of armed men from villages outside Sittwe to areas such as Narzi.27

21 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 22 Rakhine Village Administrators, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 23 Rohingya Village Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 24 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 25 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 26 Rakhine Buddhist Monk, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 7 December, 2015. 27 Green, MacManus, and Venning, “Countdown to Annihilation,” 74; Wade, Myanmar's Enemy Within: Buddhist Violence and the Making of a Muslim “Other”, 8. 242

Villagers from another Rakhine village also travelled to engage in violence in Narzi and in villages closer to home. They reported being called by Narzi residents to the area. Engagement in the violence was justified on the grounds of protecting their community. “At that time, Rakhine villages were burnt by Muslims. We had to go to defend Rakhine people”, noted one man.28 In other cases, perpetrators were not asked to come, but they had heard of the unfolding violence and wanted to protect those from their community. “We heard that Muslims were trying to attack Rakhine people. Even though there was police and military there, they were not able to control the conflict”, said another.29 Rakhine respondents who had been displaced from Narzi reported that Rakhine from downtown had come by motorcycle to Narzi quarter to engage in the violence after hearing news of Muslims attacking Rakhine.30

This section has attempted to show how the violence began in Sittwe in June 2012 and why some individuals took part in it. As tensions rose in Sittwe, preparation for defence was driven by the mechanism of insecurity; there was no confidence in the state to protect communities. There was also an uncertainty of the intentions of the other community – conditioned by polarisation and exclusive notions of communal and national identities under policies of successive governments. These conditions also meant that communities, in the interests of self-preservation, had to interpret the defensive measures taken by other communities as offensive. As both communities expected an attack from the other, offense was determined to be the best defence, and pre-emptive strikes occurred, resulting in serious violence. Individuals justified their involvement in the violence based on defence and communal solidarity. In most areas, the violence stopped when the communities were segregated, either through success of one side in the violence, or forcibly by security forces. The response of the police and to a lesser extent the military, however, was characterised by ineffectiveness, abuse, and perpetration of violence.

28 Rakhine Man (46yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 29 Rakhine Man (34yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 13 March, 2016. 30 Sittwe Rakhine IDP Camp Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 243

8.3 Response of Security Forces There was an expectation that if any communal violence did occur, the military would respond. It was the military who were first on the scene on previous occasions of violence, even if their response was late, biased or ineffective. One Muslim man who participated in this research was working at the Sittwe docks when rumours of impending violence between the majority communities of the town reached him. His Rakhine colleagues urged him to take the Muslim workers to a safe place. Instead, however, he recalled 2001, when the military had largely contained violence between communities in the town. “Rohingya thought the same would happen again”, he remembers, and did not act on this advice.31 He was not alone in this assessment. Others also expected the military to control the situation as they had during violence in 1994 and 2001.32 The widespread lack of trust in the police led many to place reliance on the military to respond when the police could not.

Unlike previous instances of violence, however, it was the police rather than the military who were the first respondents in 2012, reflecting the reform of security forces in recent years. The military only arrived after the president announced a State of Emergency on 10 June. By this time the violence was well underway, active in various neighbourhoods and villages with many people involved. Respondents reported that police or the military either perpetrated violence against Muslims, did not or could not act to stop the violence, or arrived on the scene after the violence was over. In many locations the military did not arrive until it was too late.

Abuses by security forces have been documented. HRW found that “a wave of concerted violence by various state security forces against Rohingya communities began” after the State of Emergency was announced, including killings, mass arrests and looting by police, paramilitary Lon Htein riot police and the (now defunct) NaSaKa border security force.33 HRW also found excessive use of force against Rohingya victims of the violence, as well as violations of religious rights.34 Research by the ISCI also found that authorities

31 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 32 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015; Rohingya Man (64yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 4 December, 2015. 33 ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 1-2. 34 Ibid., 29-31. 244 not only allowed massacres to take place, but in some instances also participated.35 U Shwe Maung, then a USDP parliamentarian for Buthidaung constituency in northern Rakhine State, claimed that police had allowed Buddhists to break the announced 6pm- 6am curfew in order to destroy Muslim homes.36

Primary data shows that police were incapable or unwilling to control the situation. The Rohingya political leader says that the police and military did nothing to attempt to stop the violence. More than just standing idly by, “they encouraged the people”, he says.37 Another Rohingya man also reported seeing perpetrators starting fires in plain view of the police, and alleged that some police also started fires.38 During the violence in Narzi, one man saw police “standing, watching, and occasionally shooting Rohingya... Behind the police were Rakhine with petrol, throwing it onto Rohingya houses”.39 He witnessed police shoot at Rohingya men and a Hindu man.

The Mosque near the Hindu houses was burning. A Hindu man was attempting to stop the fire spreading to his house, and Rohingya were trying to stop the fire in the mosque. I saw police shoot them all. A Rohingya man and a Hindu man died.40

Another respondent also witnessed Lon Htein shooting Rohingya.41 HRW heard similar reports from witnesses in Narzi immediately after the violence in 2012.42 As Narzi was burning, security forces moved the Muslim community to the outskirts of town. People were overcrowded into military vehicles, and some reportedly died of suffocation.43 The Muslim business leader reported that he was required to pay a large bribe to police to take his community to a safe location. He gave the money after they fired live rounds above his head to frighten him.44 Security forces were also alleged to have unlawfully

35 Green, MacManus, and Venning, “Countdown to Annihilation,” 76. 36 ALTSEAN Burma, “Unrest in Burma's Arakan State: A Chronology of Events,” (Alternative ASEAN Network on Burma, 13 June, 2012), 4, http://www.altsean.org/Reports/ArakanState2012.php. 37 Rohingya Political Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 38 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 39 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 40 Ibid. 41 Rohingya Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 42 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 26. 43 Muslim Business Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 2 December, 2015. 44 Ibid. 245 arrested large numbers of people from villages in Maungdaw Township in northern Rakhine State between 12 and 24 June, only returning them after ransoms were paid.45

Such a response was not unique to Rakhine State. The response of security forces in other instances of violence in the period has also been found to be insufficient. The ICG stated that the response of security forces in Meiktila in March 2013 was “clearly inadequate”.46 Police disarmed Muslims and led them into crowds of Buddhists who subsequently massacred them, although in other cases saved the lives of Muslims.47 Video footage emerged, seemingly filmed by police, showing police standing by while homes are destroyed and Muslims beaten.48 Naypyidaw’s response to the Lashio violence in May 2013 was swifter than in Meiktila, and the Tatmadaw was quickly deployed. Yet again, however, security forces were unwilling or unable to stop the violence.49 Some reports also noted fire brigades standing by as Muslim properties were burned.50 Quintana reported “police inaction during the early stages of violence” in both Meiktila and Lashio.51 It Mandalay, it was Buddhist monks and interfaith networks which defused the situation, not security forces. Religious leaders who calmed the situation there reported that police were ineffective.52

In part, the poor response of police can be attributed to the fact that they lacked training and experience – having only taken responsibility for such events in 2011. They were also working under a new and unclear command structure. Respondents close to police in Sittwe at that time report that during the early stages of the violence, police were unclear about whether they were to respond to orders from the civilian Chief Minister, or from MPF Headquarters in Naypyidaw.53 Confusion and a hesitancy of officers on the ground to give orders without receiving clear instruction could have been one factor

45 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 28. 46 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition,” 13. 47 PHR, “Massacre in Central Burma,” 13, 15. 48 BBC, “Burma Riots: Video Shows Police Failing to Stop Attack,” BBC, 22 April 2013, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-22243676. 49 Fuller, “Myanmar Struggles.” 50 APHR, “The Rohingya Crisis,” 8. 51 Quintana, “Statement by Tomás Ojea Quintana,” 4. 52 Mandalay-Based Sayadaw, interview, Mandalay Region, Myanmar, 11 July, 2016. 53 Security Consultant, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 21 March, 2017. 246 behind the poor police response. It was the MFP which requested Naypyidaw to announce a State of Emergency and deploy the military.54

However, the poor response of security forces also reflects their role as representatives of a state which privileges some communities over other. Muslims, and Rohingya Muslims in particular, have historically suffered disproportionately at the hands of the military and other state actors, and Muslims are prohibited from rising through the ranks of security forces. Another likely factor behind the failure of police to protect Muslim communities was the high proportion of ethnic Rakhine officers in the police force in Rakhine State. Selth notes that “MPF officers were clearly sympathetic to local Buddhists and some reportedly joined in attacks against Rohingya Muslims”.55 Rakhine officers would have been influenced by their own prejudice, as well as by pressure to stand on the side of their own community. A report prepared for the Centre for Diversity and National Harmony (CDNH) cites a MPF officer who notes that Rakhine officers are subject to a societal pressure which restricts their ability to treat communities equally.56 The ICG has made a similar observation:

Police in the area are overwhelmingly made up of Rakhine Buddhists who are at best unsympathetic to Muslim victims and at worst may have been complicit in the violence against them. The army, recruited nationally and rotated into the region, has been better at maintaining security.57

The response of the military after their deployment was more even-handed and effective, although there were also reports of military brutality and an unwillingness to stop the violence. HRW found that the military deployment had a cooling effect on the conflict and stemmed the violence. One Rohingya explained the situation as such to HRW: “The police are Arakan, too. They hate us. The army is Burmese [Burman]. They are protecting us”.58 In one village, it was said that the violence appeared imminent,

54 Personal Communication with Security Consultant based in Yangon, 12 June 2017. 55 Selth, “Burma's Security Forces,” 22. 56 CDNH, “Building Resilience to Communal Violence: Lessons from Rakhine State,” (Yangon: Centre for Diversity and National Harmony, September, 2017), 68, https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5jiWpgLuBvkbGxhOVg4NWF0T1k/view. 57 ICG, “The Dark Side of Transition.” 58 HRW, ““The Government Could Have Stopped This”,” 20. 247 until the military arrived and calmed the situation,59 suggesting that the military may have diverted the violence.

The response of security forces was characterised by ineffectiveness, abuse and even perpetration of violence against vulnerable Muslim communities. While the level of professionalism and reputation of security forces may be one explanation as to the effectiveness of the institutions, prejudice and a history of discrimination was also an important factor. The state had long viewed Muslims in Rakhine State as there illegitimately, and successive governments had repeatedly driven them out of the country through pogroms and persecution.

8.4 Security Solutions Amidst the violence taking hold of Sittwe and surrounding villages, there were also notable instances of solidarity and maintenance of peace across communal division. In a Kaman village, respondents reported that when the violence began, many young people from the village were downtown working. Rakhine protected them, and urged them to return to their village for safety as soon as they could.60 Another Rakhine respondent reported that her life was saved by a Muslim friend.61 These instances reflect the fact that generalisation of communities are inaccurate and dangerous, show that it was a minority of people who were engaged in the violence, and perhaps offer lessons on how violence can be avoided. Furthermore, comparing locations which did not experience violence to those which did can suggest particular factors which contribute to violence.

In one set of villages, effective measures were taken to avoid communal violence. There, a Rakhine village and a Rohingya village neighbour each other. The two villages had reportedly long had a good relationship, and maintain a symbiotic economic relationship, with Rohingya labourers working on the Rakhine farms and the trade of

59 Maramargyi Women, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016; Maramargyi Man (55yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 60 Sittwe Kaman Village Focus Group, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 11 March, 2016. 61 Rakhine Woman (60yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 6 March, 2016. 248 fish and other goods between the villages. The close nature of this relationship was evident at the time of research and people could be seen comfortably socialising with members of the other community in both villages – a stark difference to other villages in the area where self-segregation had become the norm. Rakhine villagers also have to cross the Rohingya village to reach Sittwe town.62 When their Rohingya villagers required goods from Sittwe their neighbours would travel to purchase these for them; a necessity due to travel restrictions on Muslims.63

The violence did not occur in these villages in June 2012, although members of both villages reported fearing that it would.64 Large numbers of Muslims displaced from Narzi arrived in the Rohingya village, raising concerns in the Rakhine village of a retaliatory attack against them.65 Instead of violence, however, communication was made between the villages to ensure that peace was maintained.66 Rakhine villagers and village leaders encouraged members of their community not to become involved in the violence, and maintained a presence in their own village, in case the conflict did come.67 The Rohingya village leader also encouraged people not to become involved in the violence, and he maintained telephone contact with the Rakhine village leader.68

The Rakhine were maintaining the presence of fighting-age men in their village and raising their defences. In the Rohingya village, the population was expanded as people displaced from Narzi arrived. Suspicions were high on both sides. As per the mechanism of uncertainty, defensive actions as described by the Rakhine could easily have been attributed as a threat by the Rohingya village. Alternatively, the gathering of displaced

62 Rakhine Village Men (33yo & 58yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid.; Rohingya Village Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 65 Rakhine Village Men (33yo & 58yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 66 Rohingya Village Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016; Rakhine Village Men (33yo & 58yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 67 Rakhine Village Men (33yo & 58yo), interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 68 Rohingya Village Leader, interview, Sittwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 10 March, 2016. 249

Muslims in the Rohingya village could have unsettled the Rakhine community to make a preventative offensive attack. Why did this not happen?

This question is very difficult to answer, although some factors do suggest why violence was avoided. In these villages, the relationship between communities was evidently much stronger than in other villages visited or in Sittwe town. In other locations, most respondents reported no current contact with the other community, even between villages in close proximity. If contact did exist, the relationship was purely economic, and limited, even in locations where violence was avoided in 2012. There was evidently a stronger level of trust between villagers as well as village leaders in this particular location. This thesis suggests that trust was strengthened by the mutually dependent economic relationship as well as the close relationship between village leaders. The Rohingya village leader said that they knew violence would hurt the community.69 In this particular case, it appears that the strong relationship between villages, strong leadership, and economic interdependence prior to the violence was important.

These findings are complicated, however, by the situation in another village where violence did occur. There, the Rohingya village leader also reported a close former relationship with the nearby Rakhine village leader. This did not stop the violence, however, and the Rohingya village leader now points the blame at the Rakhine village leader, as an organiser of the Rakhine mob which arrived to destroy the village.70 Furthermore, many neighbouring villages previously had good relations and close economic ties before 2012.

A possible explanation for these discrepancies can be drawn from the literature. Tajima has argued that communal violence would not occur in locations in which informal security structures existed prior to transition.71 In the Indonesian context, he found that these structures developed in remote locations, largely out of the reach of the state. Due to their isolation from the state, they had developed their own patterns of dispute resolution without risking communal violence. Such villages would not have been

69 Ibid. 70 Ibid. 71 Tajima, The Institutional Origins of Communal Violence, 9. 250 affected by reforms of security forces and the withdrawal of authoritarian rule in more urban areas, argues Tajima.72 Whether this was the case in these villages in Sittwe Township, however, remains out of the scope of this thesis, and was not a priority of this research.

8.5 Dhamma, and its Defence This chapter makes the case for taking seriously the mechanism of insecurity in cases of communal violence. Fears of violence were also compounded by existing narratives of a Muslim or Rohingya threat to Rakhine land and identity, often packaged as a Rohingya “hidden agenda”. Violence elsewhere in Myanmar was also in response to a perceived Muslim threat. This threat was documented in chapters 4 and 5. Islam and Muslims were widely understood to pose a threat to the Buddhist character of Myanmar and had been constructed as outside of the political community. In the context of the Buddhist precept of non-violence, however, lay Buddhist and sangha involvement in violence has surprised some observers.

There is no shortage of evidence to suggest that actors from Buddhist nationalist organisations have incited violence and engaged in speech encouraging violence. Religious justifications for violence have historically been used by some Buddhists. Gravers has shown how Buddhism has been intertwined with exclusive conceptions of the nation in Myanmar, and how violence has been justified in the defence of the religion.73 Foxeus has noted that Buddhists myths are used to justify violence and killing in defence of the Sasana in Myanmar.74 His focused study of a weikza75 Buddhist organisation found that its followers regarded Buddhism as an “ultimate concern”,

72 Ibid., 10. 73 Gravers, “Anti-Muslim Buddhist Nationalism in Burma and Sri Lanka: Religious Violence and Globalized Imaginaries of Endangered Identities,” 3, 15. 74 Niklas Foxeus, “The World Emperor's Battle against the Evil Forces,” in Champions of Buddhism: Weikza Cults in Contemporary Burma, ed. Benedicte Brac de la Perriere, Guillaume Rozenberg, and Alicia Turner (Singapore: NUS Press, 2014), 101. 75 Two distinctive forms of Theravada Buddhism were formed in 19th century Myanmar; vipassana and weikza. Although vipassana is dominant today, weikza remains popular. A wekzado (the master of weikza) is a cult figure, completing work of salvation, and guarding Buddhists and Buddhism. Kate Crosby, “The Other Burmese Buddhism,” in Champions of Buddhism: Weikza Cults in Contemporary Burma, ed. Benedicte Brac de la Perriere, Guillaume Rozenberg, and Alicia Turner (Singapore: NUS Press, 2014), xxii. 251 something “more important than anything else in the universe”.76 Foxeus argues that this is generally true for Myanmar Buddhists.77 Within weikza congregations, foreign influence can be perceived as “a threat to the survival of Buddhism in Burma”.78 In order for the Sasana to be preserved society must be ordered through the elimination of “evil forces”, including false views and ideologies such as communism or “heretical religions” such as Islam.79 While this weikza cult offers an “extreme” interpretation of Buddhism, Foxeus suggests that “the organization largely reflects and articulates values, concerns, and attitudes that exist among the majority population in Burma”.80 Similar narratives are also found in other Theravada Buddhist polities such as Sri Lanka.81 Gravers has also suggested in the context of Myanmar that the “most important catalyst for sectarian violence is the widespread discourse on Buddhism being in danger – that is, being under threat from globalization, and first of all from Islam”.82

It is clear that in some interpretations, when Buddhism is threatened the use of violence in its defence is justified. It is important, however, not to suggest that Theravada Buddhism practiced in Myanmar or elsewhere is intrinsically violent, or to suggest that there is a greater capacity in any religion than in any other. Like any other religion, the vast majority of followers espouse and follow a doctrine of peace and non-violence. Following Gravers, it is suggested here that it is much more useful to ask under which circumstances some religious actors justify violence, and how religion is used in this justification.83

Concerns of a threat to Buddhism are certainly held in MaBaTha as well as more widely in Myanmar society, and powerful religious leaders spoke of the violence in these terms. “People are worried that the dhamma will disappear”, noted a MaBaTha representative. “Anybody that does actions for MaBaTha’s teachings does it for Buddhist longevity, for

76 Foxeus, “The World Emperor's Battle against the Evil Forces,” 89. italics in original. 77 Ibid. 78 Ibid., 83. 79 Ibid., 97. 80 Ibid., 105. 81 See, for example, Tessa J. Bartholomeusz, In Defense of Dharma (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002). 82 “Politically Engaged Buddhism: Spiritual Politics or Nationalist Medium?,” 313. 83 Gravers, “Anti-Muslim Buddhist Nationalism in Burma and Sri Lanka: Religious Violence and Globalized Imaginaries of Endangered Identities,” 4. 252 the dhamma”.84 He argued that in times of threat to the religion “some approaches may seem extreme, but this is what you must do when Buddhism is under threat… Even monks will have to come out of their robes and engage in violence.”85 The threat to Buddhism identified by this individual was solely a threat from Muslims and Islam.

For this MaBaTha representative, the justification for violence did not come from the writings of Buddha. He argued that “these responses to extreme measures are not directly taught” by the Buddha, but instead come from interpretations of cases during the life of the Buddha and since. The representative cited cases of noted nationalist monks from the colonial period, such as U Ottama and U Wizara, who had taken up weapons to fight the British, and cited the Democratic Karen Benevolent Army in eastern Myanmar, which has “soldiers and weapons to fight those who threaten Buddhism”.86 He argued that “the lesson is that you cannot live peacefully next people who are threatening you. You must get rid of the threat.”87 Another representative argued that “the Buddha said we need to keep our race and protect our race… to keep nationalism in our mind”.88 Ashin Parmoukka has also suggested that violence was justifiable, not by the scriptures of Buddhism, but in the defence of the religion if it was under threat.89 Another MaBaTha Sayadaw, however, said that there were no circumstances in which killing was permitted, even in defence of the dhamma – “especially for a monk”.90 This same Sayadaw, however, was charged by local Muslim communities with inciting violence against them in 2013. This interpretation of a Buddhist justification for violence in evidently contested, but does help us to understand why some individuals perpetrated violence in Myanmar. Violence was legitimised in defence of a religious identity perceived to be under threat. Religion was interpreted this way by a number of religious actors.

84 MaBaTha Central Committee Member, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 22 June, 2017. 85 Ibid. 86 Ibid. 87 Ibid. 88 MaBaTha Representative, interview, Yangon Region, Myanmar, 8 April, 2016. The source of this information was not produced or explained when asked further by the researcher. 89 Wade, Myanmar's Enemy Within: Buddhist Violence and the Making of a Muslim “Other”, 195. 90 Thandwe MaBaTha Chairperson, interview, Thandwe Township, Rakhine State, Myanmar, 15 June, 2016. 253

8.6 Conclusion This chapter has investigated how the mechanism of insecurity between groups contributed to communal violence in Sittwe in June 2012. Across the country, there were deep anxieties of a threat from Muslims. In Rakhine State, Rohingya communities were considered a threat not only to Rakhine identity and interests, but often as a threat to life or physical wellbeing. The immediateness of this threat gave license to the perpetration of violence in Sittwe in June 2012. Due to the almost even split of the population of Sittwe at that time between Buddhist and Muslim residents, the perceived threats of loss of land and life to the other community appear easier to understand. However, insecurities and anxieties about loss of identity also legitimated violence in other locations of Myanmar as well. There are deeply held concerns about threats from religious minorities elsewhere in the country and violence has occurred in locations where Muslims constitute small proportions of the population. This does not appear to make the fear of a constructed historically Muslim threat any less real.

In the historical institutionalist argument made in this thesis, it is suggested that three factors were necessary for communal violence during this period of democratic transition in Myanmar; the historical exclusive definition of the nation, the promotion of exclusionary forms of nationalism by elites at transition, and the availability of non- elites to perpetrate violence. These three factors can be found in this chapter. Fears of a loss of identity and Buddhist justifications for violence in defence of that identity were promoted by religious leaders, legitimising the perpetration of violence by non-elites. Elites implicitly and explicitly supported those inciting violence and engaged in constructing Muslims and Rohingya as a threat or as outside of Myanmar’s political community. Again, this was historically defined. Throughout democratic transition there was an impulse to redefine who belonged and who did not.

The dynamic of insecurity complements other explanations of why the violence occurred, as it contributes to our understanding of state-society and communal relations and the context in which violence developed. This is relevant not only to Sittwe, but to wider Myanmar and other contexts as well. Of course, however, communal violence

254 does involve large numbers of diverse people becoming involved for various different reasons, and it is impossible to know all of these. There is also evidence that some were involved for opportunities to loot businesses; to take action on personal grudges against a neighbour of a different religion; and instances of individuals coerced into the violence or taking part to prove their loyalty to their community. This chapter also considered locations in Sittwe Township which were not affected by violence. Further research on why some villages experienced violence while others did not will certainly enhance our understanding of communal violence and may suggest how to avoid communal violence in the future.91

Rather than treating the state or its security forces as a single entity, an appreciation of the separate institutions of the state and an examination of their changing mechanisms is required. Changes in the structure and operations of security forces can contribute to how communal violence develops, as it changes the dynamics of relations between communities and between communities and the state. Evidently, the changing relations between security forces and communities did impact the violence. This reflects the contentious politics literature and its search for mechanisms as well as the changing political opportunity structures that actors react to.

91 The CDNH has done some important work in this regard. CDNH, “Building Resilience.” 255

Chapter 9: Conclusion This thesis has sought to make some explanations as to why communal violence occurred in Myanmar during this period of democratic transition. The contentious politics approach has looked for “the mechanisms and processes that triggered the outbreak [of contention], created the objects of contention, formed the alignments, and polarized the contenders”.1 A historical institutionalist argument has been made. In particular, three factors have been identified which contributed to this case of communal violence during democratic transition; a historically exclusive definition of the political community, elites who appeal to exclusionary forms of communal or national identity at transition, and the availability of non-elites willing to perpetrate violence.

The first necessary factor is the exclusive definition of the political community before transition. Before democracy can be practiced, there needs to be a consensus about who is included in the polity. Democratic transition inevitably raises questions of exactly who “the people” are. Debates of the constitution, citizenship and the federal form of the nation are opened. These are questions of the boundaries of the nation, of who is to be included, and of the positions of different communities in its conception. To answer these questions, different versions of nationalism arise. In a nation which has historically defined membership on an exclusive basis, the probability that dangerous forms of nationalism will arise is very high.

In Myanmar, it is the Rohingya population who most obviously have historically been excluded from the political community. This thesis has also shown that other minorities, including Muslim minorities, are also excluded under the 1982 Citizenship Law and the framework of taing-yintha – “national races”. Under democratic transition, these questions of belonging opened. Muslim minorities were targeted in violence due to their historical exclusion, and their historical construction as a threat. Other contemporary factors including violence against Rohingya and international narratives of Islam and Muslims globally also heightened perceptions of Myanmar Muslims as different or as a

1 McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, Dynamics of Contention, 330. 256 threat to Buddhism and therefore conceptions of the Myanmar nation. The uncertainty of transition and the processes of boundary activation and polarisation strengthened the already entrenched narratives of Muslims as a threat. For many, the Rohingya and Muslims more generally were to be excluded from the political community of Myanmar, a continuation of their historical exclusion and construction as a threat to the nation.

The second factor identified as necessary for communal violence during democratic transition in this case is elites who appeal to exclusionary forms of communal or national identity during transition. In a political context where relations between communities are divided this is almost inevitable. There are incentives for ethno-nationalist parties to rise and appeal to exclusionary notions of national or communal identity. These are responses to political incentives as well as reflections of deeply felt anxieties. Historically demonised groups are constructed as a threat to the self-determination – and therefore to the future existence – of another group. Political elites often share these concerns with, and consolidate support around, their own communal group. As questions of the boundaries of the nation open during democratic transition, communal groups compete for influence in the new system. There is competition to shape the future institutions and the inclusion or roles of different communities in these institutions, or the exclusion of others from them.

In Rakhine State, the construction of the Rohingya as a threat to Rakhine land, self- determination under a decentralised political system and therefore threats to Rakhine identity and interests was established in the decades before democratic transition. Distrust of the central government as traditional oppressors of the Rakhine compounded the threats that communities and leaders felt to their identity. The strong sense of the Rakhine identity as under siege from these dual threats created incentives for political leaders to appeal to exclusionary forms of ethno-nationalism in Rakhine State. The continued construction of Muslim communities as a threat contributed towards violence, which served to consolidate the support base of Rakhine ethnonationalism as communities polarised further in the wake of the violence. Segregation backed by religious leaders and the state also contributed to polarisation.

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Elites also appealed to exclusionary forms of national identity outside of Rakhine State. This was shown in the brokerage between Buddhist nationalist organisations, the USDP government and the RNDP/ANP. Elites advocated the need to protect the Buddhist character of the nation while they appealed to and helped to construct notions of a Muslim threat. Opposition parties also appealed to Buddhist nationalism. The NLD barred Muslim candidates from the 2015 election and did not challenge rising divisive nationalism. Dominant explanations for the violence by elites also displaced blame, and replicated the conditions and mechanisms which generated violence.

Finally, the third necessary condition for communal violence in this period of democratic transition was the availability of non-elites willing to perpetrate violence. The mobilisation of perpetrators of violence needs to be understood as deeply related to the first two conditions outlined here and as a function of the combination of processes documented in this thesis. In Myanmar, the exclusion was present – Muslims and Rohingya Muslims in particular – were constructed not only as outside of the political community, but also as a threat. The construction of this threat strengthened during democratic transition as interpretations of the nation opened and were contested. The promotion of exclusionary ideas and activation of fears of another community as a threat to their own by elites also encouraged non-elites to engage in violence. Violence occurs when the costs of not engaging in violence appear to outweigh the risks of engaging in violence. Communities and individuals engaged in violence due to fears of loss of life and identity. In Rakhine State, anxieties of a Rohingya threat to Rakhine interests of land, self-determination and the future of their very identity justified engaging in violence. Furthermore, Rakhine communities perpetrated violence because they keenly felt a threat to their own life or wellbeing in the period immediately preceding the violence. Threats to the intertwined conceptions of Buddhist and national identity were also deeply felt across Myanmar. These threats, historically situated and reinforced by elites, justified violence in defence of identity.

This thesis reached these conclusions by tracing the processes which made up the episode of communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar via a contentious politics framework. Chapter 3 outlined how the reforms of democratic transition should be understood as changing political opportunity structures which alter 258 the opportunities and threats actors reacted to. Democratic transition gave rise to long- prohibited engagement in party politics, a limited but novel extent of decentralisation, and the emergence of divisive ethno-nationalist parties. The media was liberalised, yet there were few checks on dangerous speech. It was in this context that minority communities were increasingly constructed as an electoral threat. Chapter 4 looked at the process of how communal and national identities were formed in Myanmar before democratic transition began and showed how these conceptions constructed Muslim communities and the Rohingya in particular, as outside of the political community. The 1982 Citizenship Law and taing-yintha framework have been shown to be central to this definition. This exclusive definition of the nation was a necessary condition behind communal violence in Myanmar. In Chapter 5 it was noted how the political salience of these existing identities opened as a function of democratic transition, understood in that chapter as the process of border activation, and the polarisation of communities across these boundaries. The history of the exclusion of Muslims meant that it was the place of Muslims, and again Rohingya in particular, in the national community who were most under suspicion. This construction was strengthened as communal violence occurred and communities polarised further. These historical and institutional factors can explain why the violence occurred when it did, as well as why this was violence against Muslim communities. Questions of the boundaries of the nation were opened by democratic transition. Communities historically constructed as outside of and as a threat to the national community had their place questioned – violently.

Actors were given serious consideration in Chapter 6. It was shown how political actors reacted to changing institutions not only by constituting new actors in the forms of nationalist organisations and political parties, but also how actors related to each other – the process of brokerage. The ways in which for elites appealed to and promoted exclusionary forms of communal and national identity was shown. Appeals to dangerous forms of nationalism on behalf of influential elites meant that those responsible for inciting or perpetrating violence were rarely held to account, allowing the conditions and mechanisms for the production of communal violence to remain in place. The highest levels of political and religious leadership in the country promoted exclusionary forms of nationalism – legitimating the perpetration of violence. Chapter 7 considered

259 the interpretation of communal violence and stressed its interactiveness with democratic transition. Interpretation was presented as a process in the contentious politics framework. Dominant communal explanations of the violence replicated the conditions for its operation. These narratives reflected what people already believed and were shown to fit with existing discourses of threat. Blame for the violence was often scapegoated to “outsiders” and vague notions of a rule of law deficit by the state, political opposition, media and other observers. The main consequences were blame displacement and the replication of the conditions and mechanisms which allowed the violence to take place.

Chapter 8 gave a place to insecurity in the contentious politics literature and considered why non-elites became involved in communal violence in Myanmar. In some cases violence was perpetrated as a response to anxieties of loss of life or harm to wellbeing of oneself or community. In many cases, however, non-elites perpetrated violence due to fears of a loss of identity. Fears of an existential threat to a national or communal identity can mobilise perpetrators of violence. In Myanmar, Buddhist justifications of violence were framed in the same narratives of threat to religious identity, something intimately tied to national identity in the country.

This thesis has suggested that mobilisation of support for violence cannot be understood as one distinct process. It is contiguous with the episode of communal violence during democratic transition. Mobilisation was a result of the numerous processes documented in this thesis. The group identities central to this episode were established in the historical process of identity formation. Boundary activation and polarisation activated and strengthened these boundaries, a process encouraged by democratic transition. Actor constitution strengthens group identity by bringing individuals together to make collective claims on the state or other actors. Together with brokerage, actor constitution allows elites to appeal to identities. Interpretation bolstered communal narratives, polarising communities further, displacing blame and allowing communal violence to be replicated.

The historical institutionalist explanation has suggested causal mechanisms between democratic transition and communal violence. On the basis of a single-country study, it

260 would be unwise to suggest that the three factors necessary for communal violence during democratic transition in Myanmar apply to all cases. However, if the same conditions exist, democratic transition in any state will open the same questions of the boundaries of the nation and of who is to be included and excluded from them. Questions have been raised of the new institutional forms and the places of different individuals and communities in the new constitution, federal system and electoral system. With the same conditions and mechanisms in place as in Myanmar, there will be a high risk of communal violence in other states undergoing democratic transition.

Beyond the main historical institutionalist explanation, it has also been argued that communal violence should not be understood simply as a unidirectional result of the processes of democratic transition. The contentious politics approach used in this thesis is dynamic and stresses the interaction of mechanisms and processes. Democratic transitions do produce mechanisms and conditions which contribute to communal violence. But communal violence also interacted with democratic transition in other ways. It became part of the rhetoric of the state, the opposition and other actors who sought to move the transition in certain directions. Communal violence and its interpretations and reinterpretations were politicised and used as political rhetoric. These processes, concocting with actor constitution and brokerage, interacted heavily with continuing instances of communal violence. As shown in this thesis, the meaning of the violence changed across time and location. While the violence in Sittwe may have been about land, demographics and communal identity for many people there, it carried a religious meaning elsewhere in Myanmar. The way that the violence was interpreted influenced how it was enacted in places outside of Rakhine State. Political contexts shaped the violence, but the violence also shaped these political contexts.

The conclusion to this thesis must raise the question of how institutionalised communal violence has become, or may become, in any future Myanmar democracy. There is an obvious connection between exclusionary forms of nationalism and democracy. Electoral politics do create incentives to appeal to such forms of nationalisms. In India, Brass found “a direct causal link between riots and electoral/political competition”, and argued that “riots are a product of actions designed to consolidate one community or

261 the other or both at the local, regional and national levels into a cohesive political bloc”.2 Similarly, van Klinken found that communal violence during democratic transition in Indonesia was simply a part of politics,3 although this did not become institutionalised. One of Brass’ findings was that communal violence should not be expected between two communities if one does not have a large enough population to influence an election.4 This finding, however, does not fit well into the Myanmar context, as most instances of violence occurred in locations where the Muslim population was insignificant electorally. This inconsistency may be explained by the context of violence. While Brass documents violence in an established democratic system, Myanmar’s period of democratic transition featured different dynamics. Furthermore, it goes without saying that reducing the problem to one of democracy is too simple. Many plural states have democratic systems and are free from communal violence. Furthermore, democratic institutions can peacefully manage communal conflict rather than agitate it.

It appears too early in Myanmar’s democratic transition to determine how common the phenomenon of communal violence will be, yet a short appraisal of the situation to the present is not an optimistic one. Instances of communal violence have continued, although on a smaller scale than what occurred between 2012 and 2014. Buddhist nationalist organisations have continued to be influential in Myanmar’s politics. The NLD government has made some moves to challenge MaBaTha through the early stages of its term in government. Problematically, however, no actor of political force has emerged to promote an inclusive form of nationalism which attempts to bridge current divides. Without this, it will be very difficult to challenge the divisive forms of Buddhist nationalism which have dominated Myanmar’s transition.

Compounding polarisation, an insurgent group, ARSA, emerged in 2016 in northern Rakhine State claiming to represent the Rohingya. The military has responded with brutal military force against communities as well as insurgents. This has driven communities further apart again in Rakhine State again and contributed to hostility towards Muslim communities across the country. There is a serious likelihood that

2 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 258. 3 Van Klinken, Communal Violence and Democratization in Indonesia: Small Town Wars, 140. 4 Brass, The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence, 220. 262 crimes against humanity have been perpetrated against Rohingya communities in northern Rakhine State, although the government continues to deny observers access to the area. Over 600,000 people have been displaced by the operations since August 2017, and Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) has estimated that over 6,700 people have been killed.5 In 2017 the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Prince Zeid bin Ra’ad al-Hussein, described the military’s operations as “a textbook example of ethnic cleansing” and the United States echoed this characterisation.6 In March 2018 the UN special rapporteur to Myanmar, Yanghee Lee, stated her analysis that the crimes “bear the hallmarks of genocide”, echoing a call by Zeid bin Ra’ad the previous week for Myanmar to allow international monitors into the country to investigate suspected “acts of genocide”.7

While this new development in Rakhine State is not the focus of this thesis, some comments can be made in regard to it in light of the findings of this research. The brutality of the military’s response, and its support among Rakhine communities and others in Myanmar suggests a greater drive to forcibly redefine the national community during the ongoing democratic transition. Extreme nationalism has continued to grow and this new violence is its extreme expression. Some implications of the violence are already clear, as public support for the military has seemingly increased in the wake of “clearance operations”, and the NLD government has increasingly sided with the military or at least failed to challenge them publically. This is likely due to a combination of; elites within the NLD sharing the widespread suspicion of the Rohingya which this thesis has found to be widespread across Myanmar society; and attempts by politicians to appeal to the majority Buddhist constituency on which the success of any national-level party in a democratic Myanmar will rest. As a result, the once strong international support for Aung San Suu Kyi, the NLD and Myanmar’s transition has rapidly decreased, and Aung

5 Médecins Sans Frontières, “MSF Surveys Estimate That at Least 6,700 Rohingya Were Killed During the Attacks in Myanmar,” Relief Web, 14 December 2017, https://reliefweb.int/report/myanmar/msf- surveys-estimate-least-6700-rohingya-were-killed-during-attacks-myanmar. 6 ICG, “Myanmar's Rohingya Crisis Enters a Dangerous New Phase,” 7. 7 Al Jazeera, “UN: Myanmar Should Be Investigated for Crimes Against Rohingya,” Al Jazeera, 9 March 2018, https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2018/03/myanmar-investigated-crimes-rohingya- 180309105233347.html; AFP, “Myanmar Events ‘Bear Hallmarks of Genocide’: Yanghee Lee,” Mizzima, 13 March 2018, http://www.mizzima.com/news-domestic/myanmar-events-%E2%80%98bear- hallmarks-genocide%E2%80%99-yanghee-lee. 263

San Suu Kyi in particular has been the target of much of the criticism due to her perceived complicity in the violence, or at least her failure to challenge it in any way.8

Future research on communal violence during this period of democratic transition in Myanmar will approach the topic from other perspectives and new evidence may come to light which challenges some of the conclusions found in this thesis or highlights any limitations of the contentious politics approach used here. The contentious politics approach, however, has been valuable in allowing a diversity of literatures to be deployed to explain the diverse phenomena of democratic transition and communal violence. The approach does position communal violence within the institutions of democratic transition, and in particular in the changing political opportunity structures of democratic transition. This approach has also allowed consideration of how identities are constructed through their interactions with the state, and has permitted history and the historical construction of identity to be considered. This approach has also been found to be flexible. The environmental mechanism of insecurity and the process of interpretation have been suggested as additions to the contentious politics literature.

As well as considerations of approach, there remains much research to do on and around the issues of democratic transition, communal violence and nationalism in Myanmar. The international dimension of Buddhist nationalism and broader issues of anti-Muslim sentiment has been referred to in this thesis, but little remains known of the diffusion of this information between Myanmar, its region, and the world. There is space for investigation of these networks between Theravada Buddhist-majority nations, including Sri Lanka. Understanding the publication, distribution and translation patterns of global discourses of Islam to a Myanmar audience both online and in print may be instrumental in our understanding of this important phenomenon. Some international aspects of anti-Muslim sentiment have been noted in this thesis, but it has

8 See, for example; Anne Barker, “Myanmar: Aung San Suu Kyi May Face Genocide Charges over Rohingya Crisis, Un Official Says,” ABC News, 18 December 2017, http://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-12- 18/myanmars-aung-san-suu-kyi-may-face-charges-over-rohingya-deaths/9269662; Christian Caryl, “In 2017, No One Has Fallen Further Than Aung San Suu Kyi,” Washington Post, 20 December 2017, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/democracy-post/wp/2017/12/20/in-2017-no-one-has-fallen- further-than-aung-san-suu-kyi/?utm_term=.e2ce80ac3b49. 264 not been a central concern. The localisation of these discourses and the ways in which they feed back into international narratives deserves more attention.

Further to this, interviews indicated that a Buddhist justification for violence in defence of the dhamma rests on a contested interpretation within the sangha and within Myanmar society. More research on the specific interpretations of when violence may be permitted in Buddhism and the extent to which this interpretation is widespread would be useful. As well as further research on Buddhism in Myanmar, there is a need for greater academic understanding of the situation of the country’s diverse Muslim communities, although important work has begun.9 Many opportunities remain for the study of how Islam is practiced in Myanmar and the relations of various communities to society and the state in a rapidly changing context.

Finally, this thesis has offered an analysis of the communal violence Myanmar experienced during the early years of its political transition. The methodology used here has traced the processes and mechanisms which made up this episode, drawing on in- depth interviews with those close to these events. This thesis has shown the ways in which communal violence and exclusionary forms of nationalism arose from democratic transition, and the interaction of these phenomena. There is no simple relationship between democratic transition and communal violence or nationalism, but the case of Myanmar has highlighted several problematic features with important implications for Myanmar and other states moving towards democracy.

9 See, for example, Melissa Crouch, ed. Islam and the State in Myanmar: Muslim-Buddhist Relations and the Politics of Belonging (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2016). 265

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